


the kids from yesterday

by angejolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:05:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angejolras/pseuds/angejolras
Summary: It’s astounding, really, to think about how much they’ve all grown. They’ve grown up, the whole lot of them, but at the end of the day, they’re all still the same—still exactly the same as they were three years ago, the same in all the ways that matter. They’re still young and wild at heart, and that’s all that matters.(or, in simpler terms—Enjolras comes back after three years, and predictably enough, he's still hopelessly in love with Éponine.)





	the kids from yesterday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/gifts).



> this has been an idea that's been eating away at the back of my mind for quite a while now, so why not write it? it's different from my usual works, just a smidge, and i just really wanted an excuse to write pining!jolras and use an mcr song as the title as well as experiment with writing cosette and enjolras as siblings, so here's the result! i hope you like it!
> 
> (EDIT: surprisingly enough, samantha barks just recently cut her hair to the exact same length i described éponine as having here so if you're having trouble with a visual see [here](https://bisexual-eponine.tumblr.com/post/174019708326))

Enjolras steps off the train and is instantly hit by that familiar scent of wild roses, alerting him that spring is coming to its end, and he breathes in the fresh air of the countryside, letting out a soft, contented sigh. Taking his suitcases into his hands, he makes his way down the platform, knowing that there will be a cab waiting for him to take him back home to the little town of Musain. Watching the people milling about on the platform, chatter consuming them, he feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards in the smallest of smiles.

Yeah, it’s good to be back.

Three years have passed since he left that small town he grew up in to go explore Europe on his own, trying to find his place in the world before he eventually settled for a job as a journalist in Paris. He had wanted more for himself but quickly found that he missed the company of his family and his friends, missing the familiarity of that small town and the beauty of the French countryside. In his childhood, he spent summers running around in the countryside with his friends, and in Paris, he realised he longed for them, hence his decision to return. That paired with the fact that his grandmother is growing old is enough to send him back.

Getting into the backseat of the cab, Enjolras prepares himself for a thirty-minute drive back into town and settles in, silently thanking the heavens that the driver doesn’t say a word as Enjolras sticks his earbuds into his ear. Staring out the car window, he watches the sprawling fields rush by as he thinks about how all his friends are going to react when they see he’s back in town. He hasn’t told anyone besides his parents and his Grandmère that he’ll be coming back for good this time—after all but disappearing for three years, he’s coming back to stay in his hometown. After calling his mother and getting the news that his Grandmère suffered a stroke, he decided it was time to come home, and for good this time.

There’s also the fact that he sorely misses his friends. He’s made his fair share of acquaintances from his travels through Europe and his brief time in Paris, but none of them ever came close to replacing the dear friends he grew up and went through a lot with. He remembers running through these very fields the cab he’s in is driving past with them as children, shouting merrily and catching butterflies in nets before releasing them out into the wild as they ran through the flowers under the azure skies. He remembers watching them grow up and change before his eyes, their bond strengthened by all they went through together. He’s kept in touch with most of them ever since he departed his hometown to go try to make something out of himself, managing to keep up with the latest gossip that’s been flying through the town.

Lost in his thoughts as he listens to the odd indie music his friends have always teased him about, he almost doesn’t notice when the driver stops in front of his childhood home, tapping on the glass aimlessly to the beat before the driver turns around to tap him on the shoulder. Jumping and yanking his headphones out, Enjolras turns to look at the driver, a startled look on his face. The driver simply sighs and tells him tonelessly, “We’re here, Monsieur.”

Enjolras digs some cash out of his pocket and drops it in the driver’s hand without bothering to ask for change before opening the door and stepping out, suitcases in hand. He stares up at the house, wondering if anything has changed in the time he’s been gone. Lugging his suitcases along with him, he walks up to the door and rings the doorbell, caught by surprise when the door swings open almost immediately to reveal his mother.

“Gabriel!” Fantine pulls her son into a hug, further startling Enjolras as he returns the hug after freezing up for several tense moments. When she pulls away, he examines her face—her golden hair still shines in the sunlight, not a single grey hair to be seen, though her face has become more lined since he’s left, but overall, the years haven’t tarnished her beauty. “Your bedroom is ready, dear, I prepared it for you when you told me you would be coming back. I know you’ll probably want to move out and find your own place soon, but you can always stay here for the time being, okay?”

“Yes, Maman,” Enjolras replies dutifully, stepping through the threshold of the house and looking around at his surroundings. Nothing’s changed since he left; the family pictures on the mantel are where they’ve always been and the ugly old grandfather clock he’s always hated is still in a corner of the living room by the window, and he can smell the fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen from where he’s standing. He hears a bark and turns around to see Christophe, a laugh escaping his lips when the French spaniel attempts to jump into his arms. It’s been several years since he and Cosette received Christophe as a companion, but the dog still seems as sprightly as ever and Enjolras scratches him behind the ears as he wags his tail. Placing his suitcases by the door, Enjolras turns around and asks, “Where’s Grandmère and Papa?”

“Grandmère is sleeping,” Fantine tells him, about to pick up his suitcases before he takes it, assuring her he can take it up to his bedroom himself. “Your Papa’s gone grocery shopping.” She goes upstairs with Enjolras, Christophe at their heels, to his bedroom, standing in the doorway and leaning against the doorframe as he begins to unpack his things. “Your sister opened a flower shop in town some time ago, you know,” Fantine informs him brightly. “Your friends have been doing well.”

“Good to know,” Enjolras murmurs absently as he sticks his clothes in his old closet, seeing that it’s been emptied out to make way for new clothes. He knows he’s bound to run into his friends sooner rather than later—Musain isn’t so much a town as it is a village, really; gossip flies quickly through the town. Lately, Enjolras has been thinking about how much the town looks like something right out of a postcard—quaint and picturesque, surrounded by sprawling fields of green and flowery hills that seem to go on forever. When he had been in his early years of secondary school, he and his friends had gone on a hiking trip to see how the town looks from up above, and he remembers thinking that he would never be as happy as he had been on that day, his arms around his friends’ shoulders as they stood side by side, entranced by the view.

Fantine steps inside to go over and sit on Enjolras’ old bed as he walks over to the window to gaze out at the streets below, watching the occasional car go by as a whole jumble of thoughts fill his head, vaguely feeling Christophe nuzzling against his calves. “Have you told anyone you’re back yet?” she asks him softly. “Anyone besides me and Papa and Grandmère?”

“No,” Enjolras replies slowly, turning around and leaning against the windowsill. “I’m sure I’ll run into one of them sooner or later. They’ll know I’m back soon enough; you can’t keep anything a secret in this town.”

“Why don’t you go see Cosette?” Fantine suggests. “She’s down at the flower shop. Seeing you would be a nice surprise. She missed you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Enjolras mumbles, looking down at his dirt-stained shoes. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s missed his sister too, and he turns around to look out the window once again at the streets below as Christophe jumps up on his hind legs to place his front paws against the windowsill, imitating Enjolras. “I’ll go down soon and see her, Maman, I promise.”

Fantine trails her fingers along the bed covers, saying seemingly randomly, “Éponine stops by a lot.”

Enjolras tenses up at the mention of Éponine, turning around and trying not to let the eagerness show on his face. After all this time, his heart still skips a beat at her name. Christophe barks at the mention of Éponine. “Does she, now?”

“Yes.” Fantine gets up, immediately picking up on how Enjolras seems to be rather tense and sensing it has something to do with the fact that she mentioned Éponine. “She asks about you sometimes.”

Hope flickers across Enjolras’ face before it almost immediately returns to indifference. “She does?”

“Sometimes,” Fantine repeats, trying not to smile at how transparent her son is. All these years, and he’s still in love with Éponine. He tries to hide it, but she can read her son better than almost anyone else can. “She makes art for a living now, you know. Painting and photography, but mostly photography. Sometimes she helps out at the animal shelter.”

She looks around at the room, deciding to change the subject and asking, “How was Paris, Gabriel?”

“It wasn’t everything I expected it to be,” Enjolras admits, straightening up and rolling up the sleeves of his red plaid shirt up to his elbows before bending over to pick up Christophe with slight difficulty. The spaniel’s grown quite a bit since he left; it’s not as easy to pick him up as it used to be. Stroking Christophe’s fur, he tells Fantine, “I’m staying for good, at least for now.”

“That’s good, then.” Fantine goes over to press a kiss to her son’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re back. I’m sure everyone else will be too.”

Enjolras musters a smile. “Thanks, Maman.”

* * *

“Hey, Gabe! Gabriel! Hey, asshole! Wait up!”

Enjolras turns around at the sound of a familiar voice shouting his name and is greeted by the sight of Adrien Courfeyrac. He’s standing before baskets of fruit at the supermarket, thinking to bring Cosette one of those apples she’s always liked and saying hi to anyone who recognises him. Musain is a small town—everyone knows everyone, and he spends quite a bit of time at the supermarket greeting old acquaintances before he’s able to get what he needs. He doesn’t doubt that his unexpected return will spark some gossip among the locals.

“Hello to you too, Adrien,” Enjolras greets dryly, although there’s that same old twinkle in his bright blue eyes as Courfeyrac embraces him.

Once he’s pulled away, Courfeyrac looks Enjolras up and down, saying, “I didn’t know you were back already! How was Paris?”

“Not what I thought it was going to be,” Enjolras replies truthfully, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m back here to stay. I’ll find work at some point.”

“Good to have you back,” Courfeyrac tells him, a toothy grin dominating his face and making his dark eyes sparkle. “Want to stop by the café at some point tonight? Just to catch up on things. We’ve all missed you.” Shuffling his feet, he mentions, “Your sister’s engaged.”

“Yeah, I know.” Enjolras has seen the pictures on Facebook—Cosette announced her engagement to her childhood sweetheart Marius Pontmercy a few months back and posted several engagement photographs. The wedding’s to be in a year or so, to be held in the town church. Enjolras has never been one for religion, as are many of the townsfolk; marriage in the town church is simply common practice. “I’m happy for her, I am.”

“I know you are, Gabe.” Courfeyrac pats him on the shoulder and picks up an apple from a nearby basket to toss in Enjolras’ direction before they make their way to the checkout line. “Have you seen… anyone since you arrived?”

“No, just you,” Enjolras replies, knowing that by ‘anyone’ Courfeyrac means Éponine. He likes to think he’s gotten better at hiding his feelings, but he knows he can’t get anything past Adrien Courfeyrac.

“Well, news travels fast,” Courfeyrac reminds Enjolras, beginning to make his way towards the supermarket exit and leaving Enjolras at the checkout counter. “Better surprise the others with your presence before they hear about it through Margeaux.”

Enjolras scoffs and shakes his head, resisting a laugh. Margeaux, a somewhat elderly woman in the local knitting club, is the town gossip; everyone always approaches her for the latest news that’s been flying through town. He’s sure that she knows of his arrival at this point and is telling anyone and everyone about it, so he should probably get to his sister and surprise her before she hears of it from a customer or something.

After paying for the apple to bring to Cosette, he goes out and finds his bicycle parked by the storefront, mounting it and beginning to pedal his way through town as the summer breeze engulfs him, making him nostalgic for the days of his youth. He’s always liked going around town by bike—he and his friends have always travelled through town that way ever since they learned how to ride bicycles, and after three years, his mother still has his old bike from his teenage years.

He finds Cosette’s flower shop beside a bookshop he knows to be Gustave Feuilly’s—he remembers having a massive crush on Feuilly back when they were in their early adolescent years—having been informed of its opening by pictures posted on Facebook about a year ago. He makes a mental note to check it out later as he parks his bike near the edge of the pavement, looking at the flowers on display through the window and smiling at the sight of that familiar head of blonde hair. Stepping up to the door, he sees that Cosette’s back is to him as she rearranges a bouquet of daffodils.

The bell above tinkles when he opens the door and Cosette doesn’t even look up, simply calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right with you, just give me a second!”

“Take all the time you need,” Enjolras replies. “I’m going to be here for a while.”

Cosette freezes at that familiar voice and straightens up, whirling around in place, her big blue eyes widening at the sight of her brother standing before the door. “ _Gabriel!_ ” She drops whatever she had been holding and launches herself at him like a bullet, running up to him and jumping up on top of him to embrace him, her joyful shriek of laughter filling the little flower shop. Enjolras staggers back, caught off-guard, before he returns his sister’s embrace, letting her hook her legs around his waist as he laughs with her, eventually placing her on solid ground once again.

“Gabriel!” Cosette laughs once again, bringing a hand to her forehead to brush some golden hair out of her face as she looks her brother up and down. “When you said you’d be coming back, I didn’t think you’d be back _today_! How have you been? How was Paris?” After a few moments, Cosette amends, “Actually, forget Paris—how was Europe, really? I’ve seen the pictures you posted, it looks like you had fun.”

“It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be,” Enjolras admits, handing her the apple he had bought for her before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It would have been more enjoyable if you and the others were with me.”

Cosette tilts her head and smiles at him as she toys with the apple in her hands, questioning in a seemingly innocent manner, “Have you seen anyone yet?”

Enjolras isn’t an idiot—he knows that his sister means Éponine when she says ‘anyone’. Even so, he plays along, replying, “I ran into Adrien at the supermarket earlier. I’m planning on going to Gustave's bookstore next door. I'll be going to the café tonight to meet up with everyone else. You’ll be there, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Cosette chirps in response, turning around to gaze at the various flowers she has on display, reaching over to place her apple on a nearby table before picking out a single crimson rose and handing it to Enjolras. “You’re _really_ transparent, you know,” she informs him frankly, a sly, very un-Cosette-like smile lighting up her face as she absent-mindedly twists the engagement ring on her left hand around her ring finger. “I know you’re just _dying_ to ask about Éponine.”

Enjolras feels his cheeks flame red as he takes the rose from Cosette, bringing it to his nose to sniff its sweet scent. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, choosing to just go with it—he’s never been able to keep anything from his sister. Even after all these years, his heart still stammers at the sound of Éponine’s name. He had thought travelling through Europe on his own would help him get over her, but if anything, it only resulted in him longing for her even more. He doesn’t even remember how he originally fell for her, really—she had been a brat in their childhood, but she had eventually grown into a lovely young woman. As a child, he had taken pride in the fact that he wasn’t girl-crazy until puberty hit him like a fucking truck and he realised that oops, he likes girls after all, and after making out with Joseph Bahorel on a dare when they were fifteen, he realised he likes boys just as much as he likes girls. After discussing it with his friends, he had come to the conclusion that he’s grey ace and pansexual and was all too surprised when Cosette came to him months after he came out—and proceeded to find out none of his friends are straight or monosexual as well—to inform him that she’s pansexual too.

“You need to work on your poker face, Gabe,” Cosette advises sweetly, jumping up to sit on an empty table. “She helps out sometimes with the shop when she’s not busy with her art and the animal shelter.” Cosette glances out the window and her entire face lights up. “There she is right now!”

Enjolras follows his sister’s gaze and feels an ache in his chest at the sight of none other than Éponine Amélie Thénardier through the window. She’s climbing out of an old, rusty red pickup truck that looks like it’s going to fall apart at any given moment, crates and potted flowers filling up the truck bed. Her hair is shorter than he remembers it to be, her deep brown waves only reaching her shoulders now instead of flowing in masses down her back, but otherwise she looks exactly like he imagines she would look after three years—loose white tank top, ripped blue skinny jeans, and a flannel tied around her waist; the mere sight of her stirs feelings Enjolras hasn’t felt in a long time deep inside him.

Éponine turns and glances through the shop window and her dark eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Enjolras. She seems to forget about the crates and pots of flowers in the bed of her truck, choosing instead to saunter into the flower shop in classic Éponine fashion, her arms swinging at her sides. “Well, if it isn’t the marble man himself,” she drawls, a dimpled grin lighting up her face as she looks Enjolras up and down, humming in approval at the sight of him. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon, Gabe.”

“Hello to you too, Eppy,” Enjolras replies sarcastically, although there’s that same old sparkle in his blue eyes as he uses the affectionate childhood nickname he’s always addressed her with. It’s been three years and Éponine still manages to steal his breath away.

“You staying for good this time?” Éponine questions, taking the rose out of Enjolras’ hand without so much as asking. He doesn’t even ask why she takes it, allowing her to snatch it out of his hand and missing how Cosette smirks behind him.

“Yeah, I am,” Enjolras confirms. He searches her face for something, anything that might hint towards the possibility of her returning his feelings, but he finds nothing. “I’ll find a job at some point. Maybe I’ll work for the local newspaper or something.” Clearing his throat as he shoves his hands in his pockets, he says, “See you at the café tonight? I’m sure everyone in town knows I’m back by now.”

“Sure,” Éponine responds easily, toying with the rose in her hand and not seeming to notice how Enjolras seems to be silently scolding himself for sounding so desperate. “Don’t be a stranger while you’re here, Gabe. I’ll see you around.” She turns around and exits the flower shop with a flip of her hair, dramatic as always, beginning to make her way down the pavement and out of sight. Enjolras stares after her as she disappears from view, not noticing how Cosette goes up to stand beside him at the shop window, a knowing smile on her face.

“Someone’s got a crush,” she teases, breaking Enjolras out of his trance as he turns his head to glance down at his sister. Cosette nudges him with a grin on her face, quipping, “You’re so clueless. It’s adorable. You're like the clueless younger brother I never really had.”

“I’m _older_ than you,” Enjolras reminds her wryly. He had been barely two years old at the time of Cosette’s birth and now here they are, twenty years later, Cosette making fun of him about his crush on Éponine.

“Still.” Cosette straightens out her skirt and goes back to rearranging the bouquets of flowers on display as Enjolras watches her, thinking he should probably go visit everyone else before he inevitably becomes the subject of local gossip.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Enjolras walks up to Cosette as she turns around to look up at him, cocking her head. For as long as they can both remember, he’s always been a whole head taller than her, resulting in her always having to crane her neck to properly meet her brother’s eyes.

Cosette embraces him once more before pulling back, replying, “I’ll see you tonight. It’s good to have you back, Gabriel.”

Enjolras steals one last glance over his shoulder at his sister before he exits the flower shop and steps back out into the sunshine.

* * *

Enjolras lies back on his childhood small-double bed, Christophe curled up in his arms as he stares up aimlessly at the glow-in-the-dark stars he pasted onto the ceiling years ago with the help of Combeferre when they were thirteen. He absently strokes Christophe’s soft fur, ignoring how the spaniel is licking at his cheek as the sun begins to set outside, casting a fiery red glow on the room through the window. He thinks about all the boxes he still has yet to unpack, brought a mere hour earlier by a moving truck, and sighs, wondering about how his friends are doing. He knows that Grantaire’s started a boxing club in town two years back and is aware of how Jehan Prouvaire will be opening a cat café soon, much to Enjolras’ amusement. Apparently Bahorel is taking over his parents’ vineyard on the outskirts of town, according to Facebook. Joly is currently helping out at the local clinic while attending med classes at the university a couple of hours outside of town, as is Combeferre, and Bossuet and Musichetta have been busy with the animal shelter Éponine’s said to volunteer at sometimes. He thinks about dropping by at some point to check out the animals.

“Nothing much has changed, has it, Christophe?” Enjolras receives a quiet bark from the spaniel in response, and he strokes the dog’s fur even more. Apparently Courfeyrac works one of the kiosks at the supermarket, which seems to be the reason why he had been shouting for Enjolras at the supermarket earlier. From the whispers on the street, he’s apparently been with Combeferre for a few months now, and Enjolras has seen the pictures on Facebook to prove it. Éponine’s siblings, Azelma and Gavroche, are both doing their own things—Azelma seems to be an aspiring photographer, taking classes at the nearby university, while Gavroche is nearing the end of secondary school. They all still get together often, from the pictures Enjolras has seen, and he longs for everything to return to the way it had been before he left.

He remembers the halcyon days of their youth when they had been young and wild, running around in the hills surrounding their town with the wind in their hair and the sun in their eyes, not having a care in the world. They had often driven out to the nearby lake to just sit on the shore and watch the sunset over the mountains, simply enjoying each other’s presence and taking in the sights. He recalls sneaking out late during the hot summer nights to gather in a field on the outskirts of town, watching the fireflies flitting among the tall stalks of grass and the patches of wildflowers before lying back to gaze at the millions of glittering stars scattered all across the night sky. In the long days of the summer, they had all taken joy in tormenting local policeman Javert whenever they weren’t going to Monsieur Mabeuf’s place near the edge of town, where the elderly man tended to his flowers and took care of the horses in his stables, and borrowing his horses to go for a trot in the hills surrounding town. Enjolras is glad to be back, having sorely missed the freedom of the countryside.

During his travels through Europe, he had constantly introduced himself only as Enjolras, having chosen to use his mother’s maiden name after how his and Cosette’s father abandoned them when he was five and she was three, Fantine having been twenty-two. He remembers the hard years—Cosette had been sent off to Éponine’s place after hours while Enjolras was sent to Combeferre’s while Fantine worked overtime to support them, barely able to balance three jobs and seeing her children, all up until Enjolras was ten and Cosette eight, which was when Fantine met a man who calls himself Ultime Fauchelevent and he decided to take care of the three of them. Nowadays, he feels more comfortable using Enjolras while Cosette chooses to use Fauchelevent, but that can only do so much—as much as Enjolras wants it to, it still doesn’t erase the fact that he’s a Tholomyès. Even so, he doesn’t mind—his father’s out of his life, so Enjolras will do as he damn well pleases.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the creak of the door opening before his mother lightly taps on the doorframe. “Knock, knock.”

Enjolras looks up to see Fantine standing there in the doorway with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies in her arms, laid out neatly on a porcelain plate. He sits up in bed with a low grunt, Christophe leaping into his lap the moment Enjolras has his back against the headboard. “Hi, Maman,” Enjolras mumbles a greeting, glancing around at the unpacked boxes scattered on the floor.

“I made you some cookies,” Fantine tells him brightly, her voice gentle as she goes to sit down next to her son after placing the plate of cookies on his desk. “Grandmère’s awake, by the way.”

“Good to know.” Enjolras looks down into his lap at Christophe, stroking the dog’s soft fur absently.

Fantine pats Enjolras on the back, telling him lightly, “Cosette told me you saw Éponine earlier.”

“Yeah, I did,” Enjolras confirms, unusually subdued. “Why would you bring it up?”

“I’m just wondering…” Fantine watches as Christophe turns over in Enjolras’ lap so the man could give him a belly rub. “You still like her, don’t you?”

Enjolras sighs again, thinking that he should just go with what his mother is saying. “Yeah, I do.”

Fantine chuckles, ruffling Enjolras’ golden curls. “Don’t be so coy, Gabriel. I know what happened between you two when you were eighteen.”

Enjolras feels himself tense, looking up to look his mother in the eye. “You—you do?” he manages to stutter out.

Fantine smiles apologetically at him. “Margeaux found out. She told me.”

Enjolras buries his face in his hand at the thought of old Margeaux telling his own mother of how he and Éponine had driven out to the lake in a car stolen from Éponine’s father to be alone together and ended up having sex in the backseat, Éponine insisting that it was a one-time thing despite how much Enjolras didn’t want it to be. “Christ,” he mutters, feeling his cheeks burning.

Fantine bites down on her lip to suppress a smile, lightly pressing a hand against Enjolras’ back. “She was your first, wasn’t she?”

“First time with a girl, yeah,” Enjolras admits under his breath. It had been one of the most awkward times of Enjolras’ life—while they had perfected their kissing in mere minutes, the sex itself had been a clumsy mess of accidental hair-pulling and far too much hesitation, at least that first time. The awkwardness of that time can only be rivalled by when he did it with Courfeyrac out of boredom and sheer curiosity, and even then it had been less awkward than when he and Éponine spent the night together in the backseat of her father’s car by the lake, curious hands hungrily touching naked skin, the only sound that night being her breathless cries of his name mixed in with his whispered groans of how perfect she was as the cicadas sang the song of approaching summer in the distance. “Jesus, how did Margeaux even find out about that?” he asks, slightly mortified. “We were at the lake, nobody else was around.”

“She didn’t, she just assumed,” Fantine clarifies. “But _I_ knew you did it, Gabriel, when you came home the next morning. I took one look at the look on your face and I just knew.” She recalls how he had come stumbling home at sunrise, a loopy grin on his face, his hair and clothes in disarray as he practically floated up to his room without a single word, looking as if he had reached nirvana. She still remembers how goddamn happy he had been all day, always with an uncharacteristically huge grin on his face, and when she had seen Éponine with a secretive look about her in town that afternoon after the night she assumes it all happened, she had come to the conclusion that her son had sex, and with Éponine, no less.

Enjolras groans and buries his face in his hands once again. “Maman, it’s really weird to be discussing the sex I had when I was eighteen four years after it happened, especially with my own mother,” he mumbles, voice muffled by his hands.

“You can always tell me about this kind of thing, Gabriel,” Fantine assures him, letting out a little noise of surprise when Christophe leaps into her lap from Enjolras’.

“Doesn’t make it any less weird,” Enjolras mutters, still mortified. “It was awkward, at least at first.”

“First times tend to be like that,” Fantine points out half-jokingly, rubbing Christophe’s belly. “You two were safe, though, right?”

“Of course we were,” Enjolras replies, looking up and pursing his lips. “She snuck a pack of condoms into the glove compartment of her father’s car.” He can still remember it all perfectly—her small hands on his shaft, making him groan as she rolled the condom over his erection before she climbed into his lap and they gave themselves to each other completely. Just thinking about it makes him blush scarlet.

After a few moments of silence, Fantine clicks her tongue and tells Enjolras, “Well, don’t you think you should get going? I’m sure your friends all want to get caught up down at the café.”

“Yeah, okay.” Enjolras ruffles the fur on Christophe’s head and murmurs to the dog, “Good boy,” before he slides off his bed and pulls his red Converse sneakers on, heading out of the room and down the stairs to the door before stopping short at the sight of his Grandmère sitting in her rocking chair by the window in the living room, knitting. He tentatively approaches her, having almost reached her when she looks up and gives him a smile.

“Back in town, aren’t you?” Enjolras sits down in the loveseat across from the rocking chair as Grandmère reaches out to softly pinch his cheek. “I was wondering where you’ve been these past three years.”

“Grandmère, if you wanted me to come home, you didn’t have to have a stroke for me to do so,” Enjolras told her jokingly, a tiny smile gracing his lips when she chuckled.

“Still impertinent, I see.” Grandmère ruffled his golden curls. “That girl of yours has been dropping by sometimes for the past three years while you were gone.”

Enjolras feels his cheeks grow warm as he mutters, “She’s not ‘my girl’, Grandmère. Just a friend.”

“But you’re sweet on her, aren’t you?” Grandmère prompts, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras can’t find it in himself to deny it, so he nods, evoking a knowing smile from his Grandmère. She glances behind her at the clock—God, Enjolras has always hated that clock—and tells him, “You should be running along now. Your Maman told me you have plans to meet your friends. Lord knows how much they’ve missed you after three years.”

Enjolras takes that as his cue to get up, telling the old woman, “I’ll see you later tonight, Grandmère.”

“If I’m not asleep by then,” Grandmère calls after him as he opens the front door and leaves the house.

* * *

The Café Musain is just as Enjolras remembers it to be—quaint and cozy, moderately filled with people and bursting with life. It seems to be poetry night, judging by how he sees Jehan up on the platform at one side of the room with a sheet of paper in hand, the patrons all watching him intently. As Enjolras enters, he senses some of the patrons turning to look at him, evidently shocked by his unannounced return, and it isn’t long until one of Les Amis notices him and shouts out his name.

“GABE! Gabriel! Holy shit!” Enjolras hears Grantaire screech from a corner of the café, where all the rest of his friends have gathered save for a few who still have yet to arrive, and immediately, Enjolras feels their wide eyes on him as he walks over to them and takes a seat in an empty armchair by the window, a somewhat forced smile on his face as they all start peppering him with questions all at once.

“Hey! One question at a time, please!” Enjolras calls over the noise, partly succeeding in quieting about half of them down. The other half, however, is still hurling questions at him, so many he can’t keep up, and throughout it all, he hears the words ‘Paris’ and ‘travelling’ and ‘dates’ the most, the last one making him blush.

When Jehan returns from reciting his vaguely creepy philosophical poetry and a girl in a beret takes the stage, Grantaire immediately shuts up, and Enjolras repeats, “Don’t ask me questions all at once.”

“How was Paris?” Combeferre asks, leaning forward in his seat and holding a cup of coffee in one hand.

Enjolras shrugs. “It was okay,” he replies honestly, looking around at them all—only Joly, Bahorel, and Marius are missing, so he assumes they’ll be arriving later. “It wasn’t as great as everybody said it would be, though.” Looking back on it now, Enjolras is convinced at this point that it had to do with the fact that he was alone and didn’t have his friends there with him.

“Tell us the good things about it, then,” Feuilly urges, a spark of curiosity in his dark eyes.

Enjolras wracks his mind for something, _anything_ to say, at a loss after being put on the spot. After a while, he says at last, “The Louvre was nice. The Mona Lisa was a lot smaller than I imagined it to be, though.”

“Was it really?” Grantaire asks in interest, an arm draped around Jehan and his whole side pressed up against the ginger-haired man’s.

Enjolras nods. “It was a nice city, I suppose. It just wasn’t as exciting as everyone told me it would be.”

“Any pretty girls?” Courfeyrac questions, wiggling his eyebrows as Combeferre lightly smacks him in the side. “Hell, any pretty _boys_?” he adds after a while, curious to know about the dating scene in Paris.

“Gabe was probably the prettiest boy there,” Musichetta remarks shamelessly, a grin on her face as she turns to look at Enjolras through narrowed eyes from her spot in Bossuet’s lap. Enjolras feels his cheeks take on a bright shade of red at her words. Subconsciously, he glances over at Éponine like he used to do whenever someone made such comments; she’s staring down at her cup of black coffee with a look of total indifference on her face, seemingly oblivious to what Musichetta just said.

“They were all very pretty,” Enjolras tries, hoping to shut Courfeyrac and Musichetta up. Instead, he ends up fuelling them even more.

“Give us details!” Courfeyrac calls out.

“Details about what?” Bahorel’s arrived, taking his seat beside Feuilly with a plate of cookies in hand as he looks around questioningly at them before his wide eyes land on Enjolras. “Shit, I didn’t think you’d be back so soon, Gabe.”

“Well, here I am,” Enjolras replies lamely, internally groaning at how fucking awkward he’s being. Catching up with his friends after three years of separation shouldn’t be this goddamn hard, damn it! Desperate to take the subject off of the time he spent in Paris, he quickly asks the others, “So how have things been around here? I know Cosette’s got that flower shop, and I saw your bookshop, Gus,” he adds, glancing at Feuilly, who smiles at him.

“Chetta and I work at the animal shelter now,” Bossuet offers. “I’m a pet adoption counsellor.”

“I’m taking classes!” Musichetta pipes up once again, a pleased grin on her face. “I’m going to be a vet.”

Enjolras makes a vague little noise of interest, figuring that he should’ve known Musichetta is pursuing a career as a veterinarian—when they were children in primary school and asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, she had announced to the whole class that she was going to be a vet, and she’s been serious about it ever since.

Enjolras loses himself in the conversation, Marius and Joly arriving at different points in the evening, and before he knows it, an hour has passed and Éponine jumps up, energetic at last as she suggests, “Why don’t we go to the bar?”

Ten minutes later, Enjolras finds himself sitting at a bar while Courfeyrac drags Combeferre to the middle of the dance floor, the rest of Les Amis scattered all across the darkened room, all at various stages of drunkenness. Grantaire’s forced him into taking a shot of tequila and his insides feel all tingly now as he stares at the rest of the shot glasses full of tequila scattered before him as if taunting him, tempting him to drink them all and lose his fucking mind to the potentially dangerous power of alcohol.

He doesn’t notice how Éponine approaches him until she’s sitting beside him on a bar stool, spinning around a couple of times before settling down and snatching up one of his tequila shots, downing the whole thing and letting out a satisfied sigh. She’s noticeably tipsy, although not drunk enough to practically be fucking on the floor like Courfeyrac and Combeferre are doing right now after the former succeeded in getting the latter drunk enough to do so. Éponine turns to him, a goofy little grin on her face.

“Okay, so tell me about Paris,” she prompts, leaning in and making Enjolras’ breath catch in his throat. “But tell me all the bad things first. I want to be an asshole and make fun of you and tell you this is what you get for leaving your dear hometown and all of us.”

Enjolras sighs, knowing he won’t be able to get anything past Éponine, so he tells her, “I was lonely. I didn’t make a lot of friends, mostly just acquaintances, so I just spent my days off wandering around the city alone, looking absolutely pathetic. My boss, the editor at the newspaper I worked for, was a goddamn menace. He was awful, but a lot of my colleagues liked him so I couldn’t complain about how much of an asshole he was to anybody. Oh, yeah, the pigeons were all really bothersome too. I got shat on by a bird at least once a month.”

“Got a lot of dates up there? Any girlfriends? Boyfriends? Datemates?” Enjolras searches Éponine’s face for something, anything that might give away any hints that she might reciprocate his feelings as she says this, but he finds nothing.

Enjolras shrugs. “There was this girl I worked with, Rosanne—she set me up on a few blind dates. Most of those blind dates ended horribly.”

Éponine wiggles her eyebrows, a smirk on her face as she toys with the hem of her flannel, and she prompts saucily, “And when they didn’t?”

Enjolras turns red, wondering if she remembers how they themselves had sex in the back of her daddy’s car back when they were eighteen. “Well, a man needs some relief sometimes,” he mumbles.

He decides to not so subtly change the subject to take his mind off of sex, which always inevitably leads back to thoughts of the perfect night they spent together four years ago and how he’s been unable to get her out of his head ever since. “How have _you_ been, Eppy?” He practically breathes out the nickname he’s had for her for as long as he can remember, and all he can hear is Courfeyrac in the back of his mind screaming _You’ve got it so fucking bad! Holy fuck!_ Shaking the thought out of his mind, he says, “I’ve heard how you’re painting now. You do photography too, don’t you?”

Éponine gives him a smile, scrunching up her whole face as she does so, and Enjolras absolutely _refuses_ to find it endearing. “I help Bossuet and Chetta out at the shelter sometimes when I’m not. I’m sure your sister’s told you of how I help her out sometimes at the flower shop because I’m the most amazing friend in the history of friends.”

Despite himself, Enjolras laughs, having missed her dry humour, and he looks down into his lap like he used to do all the time whenever she was being cute, a stupid little grin on his face. He wonders how the hell he always goes from being such an aloof, generally reserved person to a blushing mess around her as he asks, “How has your art been doing?”

Éponine shrugs. “It’s nothing much yet. Sometimes I do freelance photography, and I have a couple of paintings on display in the gallery here in town. I could take you to see them sometimes, if you want.”

Enjolras feels himself blush as he nods a bit too eagerly, replying, “Yes. Yes, I would love that.”

Éponine laughs and reaches over to squeeze his bicep, retracting her arm when she feels the muscle, eyes widening. “Holy shit, Gabe, have you been working out?”

Enjolras is just about to open his mouth to reply when a girl approaches them and asks him, “Is she bothering you? Should I call security for you?”

Enjolras’ brow furrows as he replies, “Um… no.”

Éponine rolls her eyes as the girl slides into place beside her, standing up and draping an arm across Éponine’s shoulders as she presses a kiss to her temple. “Anyway, Gabe, this is my girlfriend Celeste,” Éponine introduces the strange girl, grinning up at her. Enjolras misses much of it, blinking like an idiot; all he hears after the word ‘girlfriend’ is the blood roaring in his ears. “She tends to get super uptight and shit. A lot like you, actually!” she muses, laughing to herself as Celeste straightens out her skirt, giving Éponine a look.

Enjolras’ face falls at the sight of Celeste—she doesn’t seem like a terrible person, if he’s being completely honest with himself. The total opposite of it, really—she’s tall, almost as tall as he is, with pale skin that sharply contrasts against Éponine’s olive complexion, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, fiery hair the colour of copper, plump pink lips, and pale green eyes that seem to bore into him. She’s clean-cut, while Éponine is wild and carefree, and has a no-nonsense air about her, and for the first time in years, Enjolras is intimidated.

Celeste gives him a smile, a genuine smile that lets him know that she really does seem to want to get to know him better as she reaches out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says. “Gabriel, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh.” Enjolras tries not to let the surprise show on his face at this as he looks at Éponine, who’s looking down into her lap and fidgeting with her flannel. “That’s good to hear, I suppose.”

“All nice things!” Celeste clarifies, a pretty, tinkling laugh escaping her lips as Enjolras’ heart sinks into his stomach. “I promise.”

Enjolras shoots Éponine a dubious look as she looks up and gives him a cheeky grin. “For some reason, I find that difficult to believe.”

Celeste bends down to Éponine’s level, asking, “Do you want to go home? You seem drunk.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Éponine denies petulantly, gesturing towards Jehan and Grantaire, who are making out off to the side. “I’m not as drunk as those idiots.”

“Let’s go home just in case,” Celeste says firmly, managing to get Éponine off the bar stool as an unreadable look crosses Enjolras’ face. Oh, Lord, do they live together?

Éponine gives Enjolras another bright-eyed grin that puts the stars to shame, patting his thigh and saying, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Gabe! Say good night to Fantine for me, will you? Oh, and—and to your Grandmère too.”

Enjolras notices how much shorter Éponine appears to be beside Celeste, and when he steals a downwards glance, he notices how Celeste is wearing simple ballet flats, no heels to boost her height. The redhead guides Éponine out of the bar, and Enjolras can’t help but wonder, his mind beginning to run away from him.

What else has he missed?

* * *

Enjolras lies back on his bed, pillow under his head and Christophe curled up and sleeping at the foot of his bed as he stares up at the glowing stars on his ceiling, a million thoughts whirling through his head all at once. It’s dark out, the night sky a deep shade of purple, almost blue, and whenever he steals a glance out the window while the curtains flutter in the breeze, he notices the stars sprinkled across the heavens. A sigh falling from his lips, he stares back up at the glowing little galaxy on his ceiling, the only sound in the room being Christophe’s snores.

How could he have been so stupid? He should have realised that a girl like Éponine wouldn’t possibly still be single after three years. He was an idiot to think she would still be, and even more of an idiot for letting himself think that she’s been _waiting_ for him. He doesn’t even know if she ever returned his feelings, for fuck’s sake; he shouldn’t be thinking this way.

He almost doesn’t hear the door creaking open a few moments later, looking up to see Cosette entering the room in her sleep shorts and camisole, light streaming in through the open door until Cosette closes it again, plunging the room in near total darkness once again. She tiptoes over to the side of his bed and whispers, “Scoot over.”

Enjolras does as she requests without question, moving over slightly to allow Cosette some space on the little double bed, and he murmurs, “I thought you lived with Marius.”

“I come back and stay here sometimes,” Cosette explains. “See how Grandmère is doing, spend some time with Maman and Papa… you know.”

“Right.” Enjolras sighs once again and continues to stare aimlessly up at the ceiling, at a loss for what to do. He vaguely remembers how he and Cosette used to do this all the time when they were kids—she would come into his room in the middle of the night under the excuse that she had a nightmare and needed someone there with her, so he would always let her sleep next to him until morning came. As the years passed, they both grew out of it, but in their teenage years, Cosette still often crept into his room to have late-night talks while lying next to each other in his bed, confiding in each other and entrusting one another with their secrets.

Cosette turns on her side and curls up, eyes narrowing to inspect the look on her brother’s face before it dawns on her. “Oh, no. I know that look.”

Enjolras turns his head to give her a look completely devoid of any emotion. “Oh, do you?”

“You had that exact same look on your face when Éponine told us she had a boyfriend back when you two were sixteen,” Cosette replies, grimacing. “Crap. You found out she has a girlfriend, didn’t you?”

Enjolras can’t keep the scoff from escaping his lips, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he says, “Oh, wow, how did you know?”

“I get it, Gabe.” Cosette reaches out to place a small hand on his arm. “You can always talk to me about this kind of thing. You know that.”

Despite himself, Enjolras smiles, grateful for how close they had been growing up and how close they still are today, unlike Éponine, Azelma, and Gavroche—they were constantly at each other’s throats as children, and though they’ve grown closer now, he hears of how they still have petty arguments over the most idiotic things. He’s thankful he never went through any of that with Cosette, save for a few fallouts and misunderstandings here and there in their childhood years.

“I just… fuck.” Enjolras runs his fingers through his curls, a huffy sigh escaping his lips. “I just realised how much of an idiot I was. Why did I ever think a girl like _Éponine_ would still be single? Jesus, that was so fucking stupid of me, I just…”

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s dying to know more about Éponine and Celeste, but of course Cosette sees right through him, immediately providing him with information when he doesn’t say anything else.

“They’ve been dating for seven months now,” Cosette informs him lightly as Enjolras turns his gaze back to the mini galaxy on his ceiling. “They met at the animal shelter about a year ago. Started dating not long after.” As if that isn’t enough, Cosette decides to add, “They’re happy together, Gabriel.”

“I can see that,” Enjolras mutters under his breath, closing his eyes and letting out yet another deep sigh. “Jesus…”

Cosette pats his arm. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” she whispers, completely earnest as Christophe stirs slightly at their feet but doesn’t wake. “I know how much you like her.”

Enjolras turns his head again to look at Cosette, a completely dejected look in his blue eyes. “I was in love with her, Cosette,” he murmurs, admitting it out loud at last. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders the moment the words are out of his mouth.

Cosette raises an eyebrow sceptically. “Was?”

Enjolras sighs. “I think I still am.”

It’s stupid, really—of course he’s still in love with her after three years of barely hearing from her herself, updates of how she’s doing almost always being transferred through Cosette and Grantaire. They’ve all changed, grown up quite a bit, but she’s still _Éponine_. She’s still the same, at least in all the ways that matter.

Cosette nods in understanding, falling silent for a few more moments before asking, “She was your first, wasn’t she?”

An incredulous look crosses Enjolras’ face upon hearing those words from his dear, sweet sister, wondering if anyone else in town knows about the night he and Éponine shared _four fucking years ago_. “Jesus fuck, how did you find out about that?” Enjolras questions incredulously, a mildly disturbed look on his face.

Cosette shrugs. “Éponine told me.”

Of course she did.

Enjolras can just picture how that probably went—Éponine most likely came over at some point, probably while he was out walking around town in a deliriously happy daze, and casually told Cosette, and he can almost guarantee that Éponine said something along the lines of "Hey, I fucked your brother." Cosette, being the girl that she is, likely responded with "Oh, cool, you want some cookies?"

“How was it?” Cosette asks, bringing Enjolras out of his trance. She's not really expecting an answer as she curls up even more into herself, her hands under her head.

Enjolras snorts derisively. _It was fucking amazing,_ he thinks. What he actually says, though, is “I’m not going to discuss this. It’s been four years.”

Cosette remains unfazed, shrugging once again. “Okay, then. Good night, Gabriel.”

“Good night, Cosette.”

* * *

After a couple of weeks, Enjolras settles back into town, settling into a new routine and growing accustomed once again to the tight-knit community he grew up in after three years of being away. He finds himself a job at the local newspaper and occasionally helps out at the animal shelter on the weekends—he tries not to think about how his decision to do so was largely influenced by the hope that he would run into Éponine there—and he grows into a sort of rhythm, meeting up after work with Les Amis for drinks at the café and helping Cosette out with her flower shop. At one point, he seeks out Marius and threatens to castrate him if he ever breaks his sister’s heart. Just typical big-brother things.

Enjolras finds catharsis in taking long solo bike rides through the fields surrounding Musain, taking some time for himself to take in the fresh air of the countryside and think about how much has changed in spite of how it feels as if he never left. The town is still as lively as ever, and the word that he’s gotten back has spread well through Musain at this point. The wild summer roses are in full bloom, dotting the grassy hills as far as the eye can see, and for Enjolras, it’s strangely therapeutic to just bike through the hills, alone with his thoughts.

He hasn’t failed to notice how the people his age in town, childhood schoolmates and newcomers alike, seem to keep throwing themselves at him, much to his complete bewilderment. As he finds out one day at the café from Grantaire, it’s because he’s always been one of the most attractive people in town and people are interested in him, especially since he came back and has finally filled out his formerly gangling, lanky figure. Apparently he and Cosette are known to most as the Tholomyès siblings, considered desirable by most due to their personalities and their looks, and now that Cosette’s officially off the market, people are throwing themselves at Enjolras in their poor efforts at snagging him before anyone else could. Enjolras finds it absolutely ridiculous, especially since anyone who’s known him long enough—which is a good portion of the town—knows damn well that he’s still starry-eyed for Éponine, still hopelessly in love with her years later. He’s never been the greatest at hiding his feelings.

It feels as if everyone but Éponine knows.

One day, he’s playing with a kitten that’s just been rescued in the animal shelter, sitting on a rug in the playroom as the kitten meows and lightly scrapes his little claws against Enjolras’ forearm. He smiles down at the cat, wondering if he should get one himself before he decides that Christophe is already enough. He almost doesn’t hear the door opening, looking up and feeling his breath hitch when he sees Éponine entering with a large, grumpy cat in her arms and a good-natured grin on her face.

“Fancy seeing you here, Gabe,” she greets him with a smirk, setting the cat down on the floor and letting her run loose, her dark eyes trailing after the cat as she scampers to the nearest scratching post. Éponine walks over to Enjolras and plops down beside him, cooing at the sight of the little kitten in his lap as he glances over at her. She’s wearing similar clothes to the outfit she had on back on his first day back in town, although the ripped blue skinny jeans have been traded out for ripped blue jean shorts along with a crimson tank top and a purple flannel tied around her waist.

Enjolras rolls his eyes at her words, lifting the kitten up and letting him lap at his knuckles. “You know I help out on weekends.”

Éponine grins and pokes him in the side, catching him off-guard. “Still.”

Enjolras lets go of the kitten and just lets him traipse around in his lap, the tiny cat eventually making it out of Enjolras’ lap and unsteadily trotting over to Éponine. She laughs and picks up the kitten, bringing him to her face and letting him lick her cheek as she turns her head to look at Enjolras. “How have you been?” she asks brightly, balancing the kitten on her shoulder. “We haven’t really talked since that night at the bar.”

Enjolras shrugs, wondering what on earth he could possibly say. “I’ve been good. I got a job working for the newspaper.”

“I haven’t seen you around much,” Éponine comments offhandedly, giggling when the kitten tries to tug at her hair with his teensy little paws. Enjolras still hasn’t quite gotten used to how Éponine’s hair is short now, just barely reaching her shoulders. “Kind of surprising how I haven’t, since this is such a tiny town to begin with.”

“I’ve been taking time for myself,” Enjolras admits, running his fingers through his curls absently before he pushes the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows. “I go on bike rides through the hills sometimes. I just need some time alone with my thoughts.”

Éponine smiles warmly at him, and it’s ridiculous how Enjolras immediately feels his cheeks burn and his stomach do a backflip at that familiar dimpled smile that makes him feel like coming home. She takes the kitten in her hands and stands up, walking over to the kitty condo and placing him on it before she walks back to Enjolras just as another employee walks in to take over. “You want to get out of here?” she suggests, tilting an eyebrow. “Let’s hang out at my place.”

Enjolras’ blue eyes widen in surprise, taken aback by her offer as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Why—I—wouldn’t—what about—” he stammers out, too caught off-guard to form a coherent sentence as Éponine laughs.

“Why what?” she prompts, a teasing grin playing at her lips. Damn it, she’s making it so hard for him to think straight.

“What about Celeste?” he finally manages to choke out, brow furrowed as he gives Éponine an expectant look.

Éponine pauses, seeming to think about it. After a few moments of silence, she bursts out laughing, doubling over in laughter and almost scaring the cats in the room. Once she composes herself, she straightens up.

“I live alone, pretty boy,” she tells him, unfazed. “Celeste lives closer to the centre of town. Besides, she’s out of town for the week, she left for Lyon just this morning. I live near Monsieur Mabeuf’s place, at the edge. Come on, we can walk there!” Without even waiting for him to agree, she slips her small hand into his large one and proceeds to drag him out the door, him being almost an entire head taller than her notwithstanding. The two of them walk back out into the road, Éponine glancing up at the skies and seeing clouds gather over their heads through narrowed eyes.

“Come on, let’s walk, get some exercise,” Éponine tells him brightly. Enjolras is at a loss for words, deciding to just go with it and shoving his hands in his pockets once Éponine lets go of his hand. The two of them begin to walk together down the road, falling into step beside each other. Enjolras catches himself thinking about how unexpectedly glad he is that he decided to walk to the animal shelter that morning instead of take his bike, stealing glances at Éponine as they hear thunder rumbling in the distance.

“You think it’s going to rain?” Éponine remarks after they’ve walked in silence together for quite a bit, almost halfway to her place. She glances up at the grey clouds blocking the sun from view, hearing thunder crackle. Enjolras shrugs.

“Probably,” he replies, and as if on cue, lightning momentarily illuminates the whole sky for a split second mere moments before a sharp, deafening crack of thunder booms in the air as rain begins to pour down on the town, soaking them almost immediately. Enjolras can’t help but yelp at the unexpected rain, shivering and feeling the rain soak into his shirt, making it cling to his skin. Éponine, on the other hand, lets out a whoop of delight right there in the middle of the street and twirls around joyously, her face pointed towards the heavens as she and Enjolras are pelted with rain.

“Let’s make a run for it!” she yells before taking off in the downpour at full speed, cackling loudly and not waiting for Enjolras to catch up. He rolls his eyes with a little grin on his face, remembering how they used to do this all the time when they were children, and takes off after her, running as fast as his legs can take him. He catches up to Éponine quickly enough—her head start doesn’t quite balance out the fact that her legs are short and she tires easily—and then it becomes a race, the two of them running as if the ground is on fire to see who reaches Éponine’s place first. Enjolras reaches Éponine’s front door seconds before she does, the both of them panting heavily as they lean against the bricks, completely out of breath.

After catching her breath, Éponine straightens up and laughs, that laugh Enjolras fell so hard for years and years ago, and remarks breathlessly, “Just like old times.”

She digs the key out of her pocket and unlocks her front door, stepping inside and waiting for Enjolras to come in as lightning flashes outside before thunder crackles in the air, the thunderstorm chasing all the light indoors. The both of them are soaked to the skin, standing there dripping rainwater on the welcome mat as Éponine locks the door behind them and shakes the water out of her dampened hair, much like a dog would. Enjolras can’t help but smile, recalling how she used to do that all the time when they were kids.

Éponine kicks her soaked, ratty black Chucks off before she unties the flannel around her waist, walking barefoot into the kitchen and not seeming to give a shit about the fact that she’s dripping water on her floors as she tosses the waterlogged flannel over her shoulder into the tiny laundry room. “Make yourself at home,” she tells Enjolras lightly.

“Eppy, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re both drenched,” Enjolras reminds her, making her stop in her tracks. She turns around, looking as if she just remembered that they’re dripping water everywhere while thunder crackles outside.

“Well, look at that! We are.” She throws her head back and laughs, walking up to him and raking her eyes over his figure, making him tense up. After a few moments of inspection, she comments playfully, “I forgot about your chronic inability to button up your shirts.”

Enjolras immediately looks down and notices for the first time that he’s left the top three buttons of his shirt undone, feeling his cheeks flame red at the realisation. His shirt is clinging to his skin, the outline of his muscles clearly visible through the wet fabric, and he begins to stammer, “I—uh—I don’t—not really—”

“Hold up.” Éponine presses a finger to his lips to silence him before she turns around on her heel and disappears into a room that Enjolras supposes is her bedroom and emerges not long after with some clothes in her hands. “Here, wear these until your own clothes dry out. R keeps some of his clothes here with me.”

Enjolras screws his face up at her as he wordlessly takes the clothes from her, asking, “Why does he keep some clothes at your place?”

Éponine shrugs, nonchalant. “He comes over an awful lot,” she informs him. “So much that he started keeping clothes here with me.”

“Doesn’t he live with Jehan now?” Enjolras questions as Éponine points in the direction of a bathroom where he can change, going where her finger is pointing.

“He does, but we still hang out a lot when those two aren’t boning,” she explains, laughing at the disturbed look on Enjolras’ face at the word ‘boning’. He shuts the bathroom door behind him, leaving Éponine to trudge into her room and change out of her soaked clothes into dry ones. When she steps out, shaking the last of the water out of her hair, she sees that Enjolras still hasn’t emerged from the bathroom and goes into the little living room, which is separated from the kitchen only by a counter, and heads over to the little bookcase in the corner.

Éponine is sitting on the sofa with a bottle of wine and a photo album Les Amis compiled during their last year of school by the time Enjolras comes out of the bathroom, muttering darkly to himself. “I can’t believe I’m actually wearing R’s clothes…”

His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Éponine sitting there on the sofa, legs tucked underneath her and a bottle of wine in one hand. A photo album is open in her lap and Enjolras heads over to take a seat next to her as she perks up at the sight of him, patting the empty space beside her and inviting him to sit down.

“Thought it’d be fun to reminisce a bit,” she explains.

Enjolras gestures at the bottle in her hand. “Why the alcohol?”

“Nostalgia’s a bitch,” Éponine responds in lieu of an actual explanation, looking down at the open book in her lap. She removes the cork with ease, taking a swig of the wine before handing the bottle to Enjolras and looking down at the photographs scattered on the thick pages of the album.

Enjolras takes the wine from her and looks around at his surroundings—Éponine’s place is small and quaint, much like Éponine herself. The curtains are open and he notices a bookcase in a corner and a plush armchair in another, succulents lining the windowsill and flowers evidently from Cosette’s flower shop tucked into empty wine bottles scattered all over the place—on the coffee table, on top of the bookcase, even on top of the fridge. Open sketchbooks and half-finished paintings are haphazardly lying around as well as countless photographs from God knows when, and Enjolras can’t help but smile at how much of Éponine is reflected in this place. There are a couple of scented candles here and there, paint brushes in mason jars filled with stained water, and fairy lights are strung up around the room, casting the place in some sort of a soft yellow otherworldly glow. The neat freak in Enjolras is severely put off by how untidy the entire place is, but somehow, it suits Éponine and her wild, messy personality perfectly.

“Oh, look!” Enjolras is brought out of his trance as Éponine speaks, pointing at a picture on the page they’re on. He takes a sip of wine and looks closer at the picture Éponine is pointing at, a corner of his mouth tugging up in a little smile at the sight of them. It’s a picture of all of Les Amis together at the lake when they were seventeen, Azelma and Cosette fifteen and Gavroche twelve. Enjolras recalls that day—it was the first day of summer and they had gone to the lake to cool off. Éponine flips the page and grimaces at a picture of her sitting at the edge of the lake on the dock, scrunching her face up in distaste.

“Jesus fuck, I looked like a disaster,” she remarks, grimacing at the image.

“What are you talking about? You look nice,” Enjolras contradicts. Then again, he’s majorly biased.

Éponine snorts derisively. “ _Nice?_ What the fuck are you on? Why in _God’s name_ did I ever think bangs looked good on me?”

“I liked it,” Enjolras tells her candidly. “If that’s any consolation.”

Éponine turns to look at him and grins. “Thanks, pretty boy. Aren’t you the charmer today?” she teases.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Then again, I liked everything about you.”

“Aww, that’s cute,” Éponine cooed, pretending to mock him as she runs her fingers through his limp, damp golden curls and makes his breath catch in his throat. Taking the wine bottle from him, their fingers brushing, she takes another swig of it and turns the page once again. “It’s like you think I’m worth something.”

Enjolras sighs, rolling his eyes yet again. “You’re beautiful, Eppy. You always have been. It’s nothing new.”

“You say it like it’s a scientific fact,” Éponine teases, ruffling his curls before retracting her hand and turning her gaze back to the photo album as she lightly brushes her fingers over the images of them and their friends, looking at how much they’ve grown while Enjolras takes the wine bottle from her and takes another sip. After a while, she speaks again.

“Why _did_ you come back, Gabe?” she enquires, her casual tone sounding rather forced as she looks up and her brown eyes find his blue.

Enjolras shrugs. “I missed all of you, that’s all. Besides, my Grandmère’s getting old and I figured I’d spend as much time with her as possible before she inevitably bites the dust one day.” Clearing his throat, he decides to not-so-subtly changes the subject, saying, “Enough about me. What about you? How have you been?”

Enjolras almost thinks he imagines how Éponine’s knuckles around the neck of the wine bottle whiten just slightly, coming as soon as it goes. A clap of thunder rattles the tiny house but Éponine is unfazed, instead asking carefully, “Before I talk about that, don’t you think I deserve an explanation?”

Enjolras feels his mouth go dry, having been expecting and dreading this conversation. “About why I left?”

Éponine rolls her eyes. “Yes, what else would I deserve an explanation for?”

“I don’t know.” The words are out of his mouth as soon as they pop into his head. “If you want an explanation for anything else, I can do my best to give it to you.”

Despite herself, Éponine laughs, albeit quietly. “Enough with the jokes, Gabriel. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why didn’t you contact me? Why did everyone else get a proper goodbye in person but me?”

Enjolras feels a sinking feeling in his stomach upon remembering how he had delivered a note to Éponine through Cosette before he took off just like that, only now recalling how he never really said goodbye to the girl he was so hopelessly pining for. “I’m sorry, Eppy, I know that was really shitty of me and I swear, I really did mean to call. It was all I ever thought about. It’s stupid, I thought if you had wanted to talk to me you would’ve initiated contact, but you never did, and I know that sounds really shitty and selfish now—”

“No, Gabriel.” The solemnity in Éponine’s voice quickly shuts him up. “Why didn’t you _say goodbye_? All I got was that note you gave Cosette to give to me and then you were gone just like that. Everyone else got to say goodbye to you in person but me.”

Enjolras sighs, not wanting to let himself confess his undying love to her or do something just as stupid. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave if I did,” he confesses under his breath, avoiding eye contact. He stumbles over his words—fuck alcohol, he’s never drinking again. “I wanted to go, but at the same time, I didn’t, not really. I didn’t want to leave everyone. I didn’t want to leave _you_.” Taking a deep breath, he admits, “If I had seen you one last time, I—I would have somehow convinced myself to stay here, but I needed to put myself out there, so I had to leave without seeing you.”

Éponine lets out a tired, exasperated huff, asking slowly, “And why is that?”

Well, he’s confessed too much at this point, so he might as well say it. Enjolras looks up, blue eyes finding brown, and he thinks that her dark eyes are just the slightest bit glassy.

“I was in love with you, Eppy.”

Éponine leans back against the backrest of the sofa, the photo album in her lap lying forgotten, and after a painful silence, she snorts, the tension between them melting almost immediately. “Jesus. You could’ve just led with that, Gabe, you didn’t need to be such a fucking drama queen about it.”

Enjolras swats at her arm just then, making her laugh out loud. After a while, she calms down again, leaning back against the sofa as her dark eyes stare straight into his blue. “What you said about not wanting to initiate contact? You’ll never get anywhere in life if you never take a risk and make the first move, Gabe. Just a word of advice.”

“Yeah, I know that now,” Enjolras mutters, unable to keep himself from thinking about how it might already be too late for that.

* * *

He and Éponine fall back into their old rhythm as if nothing’s changed once they’ve addressed the massive elephant in the room, and she never brings it up again after their conversation at her place. Even still, he keeps walking on eggshells around her for some time after before realising that it’s truly in the past this time, and he’s much less tense whenever he spends time with her after he realises that. She stops by often, chatting with Fantine and snagging her cookies and playing with Christophe. At this point, Enjolras has gotten used to Éponine popping up at his house every now and then, most of the time her motivations being a need to steal the cookies his mother makes.

He actually gets to know Celeste a little bit—she was born to Dutch parents and moved to France with the family when she was an infant. He learns that she’s always had a fondness for animals and a love for music, taking up the latter at the age of seven and learning to play the piano and guitar and violin—the very instruments Enjolras himself knows how to play—although her heart lies with the animals she works with. She’s devoted to her parents and he discovers that she has a twin brother, Étienne, who lives in Marseille; she’s also dedicated to helping animals, working at the animal shelter Bossuet and Musichetta work at. In short, Celeste is perfect—Enjolras is surprised to find that he actually starts liking her, the fact that she’s with Éponine starting to lose its sting as he gradually comes to realise that she’s the perfect girl for Éponine.

One day, he’s sitting alone in the café and waiting for Combeferre and Courfeyrac to stop by so the three of them could go see an afternoon movie. Before, he had second thoughts about third-wheeling them, but they insisted on him coming with them to see some trashy movie they’re showing at the local cinema so here he is, a cappuccino in hand as he sits in an armchair and waits for them to show up.

Enjolras looks up from his phone when he hears the bell tinkle and he makes a face at how Combeferre and Courfeyrac are just laughing together and gazing into each other’s eyes with stupid lovesick looks on their faces as they enter the café together, their heart eyes able to be spotted from ten miles away. Enjolras makes a face at how stupidly in love they are, envious of how they’re able to act gross together in public, and that’s when he stops himself, because he was seconds away from imagining Éponine as the one he’s being gross with in public.

“Sup, Gabe?” Courfeyrac plops himself down in the loveseat across from the armchair Enjolras is sitting in, tugging Combeferre down to sit beside him. “Still pathetically in love with Éponine?”

Enjolras sighs and rubs his temple. “Adrien. I’ve been back for a month, why are you only asking me about this now? And I was trying to be casual about it.”

Courfeyrac snorts. “Buddy, you’re casual about literally everything other than the matters of the heart.”

“I see Julien’s been rubbing off on you,” Enjolras remarks dryly, glancing at a smiling Combeferre through narrowed eyes.

“Oh, he has,” Courfeyrac quips, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “In more ways than one.”

“Ugh, gross.” Enjolras shudders in disgust, making a face. He’s revolted at the very _thought_ that his childhood playmates are doing it despite how hypocritical of him that is since everyone seems to know about how he and Éponine had sex back when they were eighteen. “Just—don’t tell her. Please?”

“We wouldn’t dream of it, Gabriel,” Combeferre assures him, giving him a warm smile. “She’s finally got a good thing going.”

“So I’ve heard.” Enjolras takes a sip of his cappuccino and coughs when it sets the roof of his mouth on fire, quickly placing the cup back on its saucer on the coffee table. “I’m happy for her. I really am. All I want is for her to be happy, so. That’s good.”

He isn’t lying—he really is glad that she’s happy, knowing that she deserves it and so much more. There’s nothing that would make him happier than the knowledge that Éponine is happy. It’s all he ever wants for her, but he often catches himself wishing he could be the one making her that way before he stops himself each time, realising how selfish that sounds.

Trying to take the topic off of him and his seemingly undying love for Éponine, he changes the subject—something he’s never been the best at—and asks, “So how have things been going with you two?”

“We’re moving in together in a month!” Courfeyrac announces, a smug grin on his face. “And we’re going to adopt a dog from the shelter together once we do. But enough about us. Has anyone ever told you how fucking transparent you are, Gabe?”

Enjolras grumbles and slouches down in his armchair, crossing his arms across his chest in a petulant manner. “I think you might have mentioned that a few hundred times over the past few weeks, yeah.”

“Real mature, Gabriel,” Combeferre remarks sarcastically, shaking his head at how Enjolras slides down lower in his seat.

“It’s a cruel world, _mon ami_ ,” Courfeyrac tells him, feigning sympathy as he presses the hand that isn’t tightly grasping Combeferre’s to his heart.

“So are we going to see that movie together or do you two want to irritate me and pester me about Eppy all day?” Enjolras questions flatly, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“Aww, how cute.” The massive brazen grin on Courfeyrac’s face could probably split his face in half. “You still call her Eppy. Oh, and look, is that a blush I see?”

“Fuck you.”

* * *

Enjolras firmly grasps the leash as he strolls through the fields, taking Christophe on a much-needed walk and taking in the fresh air. There’s something comforting about that fresh whiff of the countryside air, the scent of wild summer roses filling his nostrils and reminding him of summers long gone. He and Christophe have made their way through the woods and are now making their way back to town, Enjolras glimpsing the faint outline of Monsieur Mabeuf’s stables in the distance. Christophe getting distracted by two nearby butterflies proves to be a minor setback and Enjolras stands by and patiently waits for the spaniel to calm down and for the butterflies to fly away before beginning to walk again on that well-worn trail back into town. It’s a bright day in mid-July, the wild blue skies endless and not a cloud to be sighted, and Enjolras thinks about how perfect that day seems to be all the way into town.

That is, until he stops in front of Cosette’s flower shop when he catches a glimpse of Éponine crying on Cosette’s shoulder as Musichetta stands by them, rubbing Éponine’s back in what looks like an attempt at consolation and he immediately sees red.

He almost stops breathing, entering the flower shop with Christophe in tow, and Éponine immediately composes herself upon noticing him, wiping away her tears and flashing him a watery grin. “What’s up, pretty boy?” she acknowledges out loud before brushing past him, and just like that she’s gone. Musichetta exits soon after, leaving Enjolras there with his sister and their dog.

Enjolras turns around and watches as Éponine gets into her rickety pickup truck and drives off, disappearing from sight, before he turns back to look at Cosette. “What the hell was that about?”

“It’s not my place to tell you, Gabriel,” Cosette tells him apologetically, regret obvious in her big blue eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Eppy was _crying_ , Cosette,” Enjolras points out, feeling as if his lungs have been robbed of air. “She’s Éponine Amélie Thénardier. She _never_ cries. Remember when she broke her arm when she and I were eight? She didn’t even cry then. What happened?”

“I’m sorry, Gabriel, but I can’t tell you!” Cosette cries out, raising her arms in surrender. “If you want to know so badly, why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“You know what? Fine, I will.” Enjolras turns on his heel and stalks out of the flower shop, Christophe a few steps ahead of him already, and within ten minutes, he’s back at his house. Surprisingly, Éponine’s truck is parked in front of it, but he doesn’t let that get to him, knowing that he’ll probably find Éponine inside chatting with his mother over the kitchen counter. Sure enough, once he enters the house and takes off Christophe’s leash before letting the spaniel run free as he walks into the kitchen, there Éponine is, eating Fantine’s brownies and talking to her, leaning over the counter. When she catches sight of Enjolras standing in the kitchen doorway, she freezes up for a split second before nodding at him in greeting. “Hey, Gabe,” she greets, walking over to him after bidding Fantine goodbye.

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk?” Enjolras asks in concern, his voice soft.

“I think we should go someplace more private first,” Éponine suggests quietly, looking back at Fantine and smiling feebly at her before she guides Enjolras out of the house and into her run-down pickup truck. Enjolras doesn’t dare question it when she starts driving, only waiting until they’re nearing the edge of town to ask questions.

“Where are we going?” he queries uncertainly, glancing sideways at her.

Éponine manages to crack a grin as she keeps her gaze on the road, staring straight ahead. “Patience, pretty boy. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Enjolras can barely keep the surprise from showing on his face when Éponine pulls up by the lake, parking just a few metres away from the lakeshore before she hops out of the car and jumps up on the hood of the car, Enjolras following suit. The sun is high in the sky, the sunlight making Éponine’s deep brown locks shine, and she leans back on her hands, staring off absently at the light bouncing off the clear water and watching the birds flit about in the trees.

Enjolras lets the silence envelop them, his mind going back to the time he first kissed her here when they were eighteen, a mere week before they snuck out and drove back here to have sex in the backseat of her dad’s car. They had gotten a little too drunk on apple schnapps, resulting in a kiss by the very tree they’re parked nearby right now, and though he doubts whether Éponine remembers it or not, apples have never quite tasted the same to him.

After a while, Enjolras works up the courage to speak up. “What was that earlier?”

Éponine looks at him, eyes narrowed just slightly. “What was what, pretty boy?”

“You were crying, Eppy,” Enjolras points out. “Is this about Celeste?”

He doesn’t fail to note how Éponine tenses up at the mention of Celeste, hearing obvious haste in her voice as she mutters, “I’m fine, Gabriel. At least, I will be. People can love each other, but that doesn’t always mean they’re meant to be.”

Enjolras furrows his brow as he tries to interpret that, wondering what on earth her words could possibly mean. Have they broken up? He has no idea how to feel about it if they have. On one hand, he’s still hopelessly, stupidly in love with Éponine, but on the other hand, ultimately, he just wants her to be happy, and it was obvious that Celeste makes her happy. At least, she did. He swallows, feeling a small lump forming in his throat as he murmurs, “I thought you two were perfect together.”

Éponine lets out a laugh, bitter and curt, as she drapes her flannel over her shoulders. “Didn’t everyone?”

The two of them sit in silence once again after that, legs dangling off the hood of the car and the sun beating down upon them as bees flit about among the flowers growing along the shore. Enjolras feels his stomach do a backflip when Éponine reaches over to take his hand in hers, wordlessly lacing their fingers together and keeping her gaze fixed on the lake before them. He marvels at the feeling of her small hand in his large one, wondering how such polar opposites could fit so perfectly together as if they’re two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and after several other quiet moments pass by with the only sound being the cicadas singing in the distance, Éponine speaks up again.

“You know, I never forgot about us,” she admits, scooting just a fraction of an inch closer to him. “I still remember everything.” She looks up then, catching his eye and gazing into his ocean blue eyes with an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you want to know what happened with Celeste?”

Enjolras nods, trying not to look too eager at finally getting some information out of her. “Only if you’re comfortable with sharing it.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” Éponine scoffs, although Enjolras notes that a corner of her mouth tilts up in the smallest hint of a smile. That’s when she tells him everything.

Enjolras learns that she and Celeste haven’t quite been seeing eye to eye lately, not spending as much time together as they used to, and they’ve drifted apart quite a bit by the time Éponine found an acceptance letter to vet school all the way in New York on Celeste’s desk. As much as they really did make each other happy, Éponine realised then that there isn’t much of a future for her and Celeste anymore and they’ve parted amicably, although she’s still hurting over how Celeste never even bothered to call and tell her about news such as this. They’ve painted a picture of such a perfect couple to everyone else in town that not even Grantaire bothered to ask about it.

Éponine lets out a deep sigh and breaks eye contact as she comes to the end of her explanation, scooting back up to lean back against the windshield. Enjolras does the same, his heart pounding a bit too loudly in his chest at the realisation that she’s still holding his hand, seeming to have forgotten about how she had taken it ten minutes earlier.

“We made all these plans together, you know,” she murmurs, gazing off at the peaceful lake, cicadas humming in the distance. “We talked about backpacking through Europe, moving to the coast and getting a place on the beach that we probably wouldn’t be able to afford, owning a couple of cats together…” She sighs wistfully, biting her lip. “Some things just don’t work out, I guess. We’re still on good terms; I’d never keep her from going to vet school to fulfil her dream, even if it is all the way in fucking New York.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be sad about it,” Enjolras tells her, lightly squeezing her hand. “You were together for eight months, and you’ve known each other for a year. I know it meant a lot to you.”

Éponine shrugs, a little dimpled grin playing at her lips as she looks down into her lap. “It’s fine, pretty boy; I’ll get over it. It’s a miracle she ever went out with little ol’ me in the first place, anyway.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, unable to keep the laugh from escaping his throat. “That’s bullshit. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Éponine turns to catch his eye, gazing into his blue eyes and giving him a half-smile before making a face and pretending to gag. “Pretty boy, you flatter me.”

She’s going to be fine. They’re both going to be just fine.

* * *

The two of them grow closer than ever after that.

Éponine trusts Enjolras enough to give him a key to her place, though he doesn’t use it much. Often, he would come home from work and find her there in his kitchen with his mother, snarfing down Fantine’s infamous cinnamon sugar cookies and chatting with her over the kitchen counter before she notices him standing there and an enormous dimpled grin erupts across her face. Sometimes he would come home to find her sitting on his bed, playing trashy 90’s music from the Bose speakers in his room and filling up the empty pages of her sketchbook whenever she isn’t playing with Christophe on the carpeted floor. The two of them find solace in venting about their days to each other right there in his childhood bedroom, terrible music playing in the background as if they’re in some tacky coming-of-age film despite the fact that they’re twenty-two. Often, Cosette would come over with Marius and Éponine would talk them all into a game of Cards Against Humanity more often than not, and when she isn’t constantly being a bother—a loveable, endearing bother, but a bother nonetheless—to Enjolras, she’s downstairs, deep in conversation with his Grandmère.

Sometimes she tags along whenever he’s out walking Christophe through the fields, oftentimes just sitting there together in the shade of a tree at the edge of the woods while the spaniel runs around in the endless green of the fields, tiring himself out, and chatting about everything and nothing all at once. Éponine keeps trying to talk him into agreeing to being set up on blind dates, but Enjolras refuses to even let himself hear of it, not when she’s there. As long as she’s around, he’s certain he’ll never be able to see anyone else in the way he sees her. As the lengthy summer days pass by, little by little, he can feel himself beginning to fall in love with her all over again.

One day when all the sunshine is hidden behind stormy clouds of grey, rain pouring down upon the little town of Musain, Enjolras goes over to Éponine’s place, opening the door to be greeted by the sound of deafening pop music blasting from the speakers, almost drowning out the thunderous sound of the harsh rain against the windows and roof. Éponine’s hair is tied back in the smallest of ponytails, thin white T-shirt and ripped jeans splattered with paint, as she walks about the little living room, occasionally picking up a brush to add on to her current painting whenever she isn’t filling up another page in her sketchbook or flipping through her countless albums of photographs.

Enjolras takes a seat in the little loveseat near the window, listening intently to the song blaring from the speakers. “Since when did you listen to this kind of music?”

Éponine shrugs, not really replying as she continues to paint on the canvas propped up by the easel in a corner. Enjolras never really expected a reply in the first place, simply gazing at her as she paints and listening carefully to the lyrics of the song.

_“I’m so in love with you and I hope you know; darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold… We’ve come so far, my dear; look how we’ve grown… And I want to stay with you until we’re grey and old…”_

He feels an ache in his heart at the familiarity of those lyrics, not that he’s ever heard this song before—the song just hits a bit too close to home as he listens to it while intently watching Éponine paint until she places the paint brushes back in a mason jar full of stained water and plops down beside him.

“So how’s it been with you, pretty boy?” Enjolras hasn’t failed to pick up on the fact that Éponine has been calling him pretty boy more and more often nowadays, seeming to have decided that it’s her affectionate nickname for him. He can’t say he’s complaining; at least he isn’t being called Apollo or the marble man like the others so lovingly love to call him. “Snagged any dates yet?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes at the playful slyness in Éponine’s tone, shaking his head. “I told you—I don’t like those.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t ask.” After a while, she says, “You know what’s great about finally being single again, Gabe?”

Enjolras hums absently in acknowledgement, toying with the hem of his button-up shirt. “What?”

Éponine makes a face. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes once again, not believing a single word of the bullshit that’s spewing out of her mouth. “You and I both know you don’t really believe that, Eppy.”

Éponine lightly shoves him, pummelling him in the shoulder to distract from the fact that she can’t keep the tiny grin off her face. “Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t believe?”

“You’re the most independent person I know,” Enjolras points out, cocking his head as his blue eyes find her brown. “I think you just miss the intimacy that comes with a typical relationship.”

Éponine scrunches her face up at him, and Enjolras refuses to find it adorable. “Gross.”

“We’ve done it before,” he reminds her, feeling his cheeks flame red at how blunt he’s being. “We’ve literally had sex. You know, you were sitting in my lap, my dick was in your—”

“Yeah, as if I could forget,” Éponine mumbles, catching Enjolras off-guard. He never once thought to think about whether or not she’s ever spared their night together so much as a thought.

Before he can open his mouth to reply, Éponine gets up and goes over to the bookcase to take out a large sketchbook, not noticing how she knocks over one of the smaller ones as she goes to grab a pencil. Enjolras gets up and walks over, having noticed something float out of the sketchbook and hit the floor some time after the sketchbook itself did. Stooping down to pick it up along with the sketchbook, he sees that it’s a flimsy, faded train ticket.

A one-way train ticket to Paris, dated two years ago.

He doesn’t notice how Éponine turns around and sees the train ticket in his hand, and she must have seen the look on his face, if he’s going to go by the way she tentatively approaches him once again and murmurs, “I was ready to go. Packed my bags and everything.”

Enjolras finally tears his gaze away from the ticket in his hand to meet her brown eyes, a curious, slightly bewildered look on his face. “What stopped you?” he asks, his breath catching in his throat.

Éponine shrugs, a faint pink colour dusting her cheeks. “You know what you said all those weeks ago about how you didn’t keep in touch with me all those years because you thought if I had wanted to talk to you, I would have initiated contact? I felt the same way. I figured that if you had wanted to contact me, you would have by then.”

Enjolras’ blue eyes widen just slightly at the realisation that all this time, Éponine’s been feeling the same way he has about the distance between them, both literally and metaphorically. “Christ, Eppy, I… If I had known… I’m sorry.”

Éponine manages a smile at him, and he notices that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t apologise, pretty boy.” After a while, she muses, “Can you imagine, though? Imagine me, running to catch the train and then having no idea what I was going to do once I reached Paris. What the fuck was I thinking? Was I really expecting you to be there waiting for me as if this is some trashy romcom? There was no way for you to know I was there. Besides, how the hell was I supposed to find you after that? I didn’t think things through.” She lets out a little laugh, and the bitterness in it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Clearly, I’d been spending too much time with Jehan. His romanticism was beginning to rub off on me.”

Enjolras swallows the massive lump that’s formed in his throat before he manages to choke out, “Why?”

Éponine raises an eyebrow. “Why what?”

“Why were you going to Paris?” Enjolras questions, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

Éponine snorts. “Jesus fuck, you don’t listen, do you, Gabe? I just told you.”

“Eppy.” Enjolras tucks the train ticket between the cover and the first page of the sketchbook and reaches to grasp her arm. “Why?”

After a few moments of awful, deafening silence, Éponine sighs, relenting at last. “I wanted to see you,” she admits, her voice barely reaching above a whisper. “I missed you, you stupid clueless pretty boy. Believe it or not, you actually meant something to me. You still do.”

Enjolras manages to keep his mouth from falling open at her words, instead turning his gaze back to the sketchbook and opening it, surprised to find that the first image he sees is a sketch of him. It’s incredibly life-like, done in pencil, the lines rough and thick, painting a picture of him standing by the lake and staring off into the distance. Too surprised to speak, he turns the page to find a black-and-white sketch of Gavroche with Grantaire and Courfeyrac on three of Monsieur Mabeuf’s horses, and it’s followed by a sketch of Marius and Cosette together at what seems to be the opening of Cosette’s flower shop. When he turns the page, Enjolras sees that it’s him again, an amazingly realistic sketched portrait of him taking up the page. The quality of the art is enough to rival that of Grantaire’s, maybe even surpass it, and Enjolras is astounded at just how talented Éponine is, judging by how she managed to bring the very image of him to life with nothing but a pencil and a sheet of paper in a little sketchbook.

Éponine smiles at how he’s transfixed by her sketches, blue eyes fixed on the page, and she feels her cheeks warming up. “It’s cathartic, in a way,” she explains, her voice quiet. “Whenever I’m frustrated with the world, I do sketches of you guys. It helps me calm down.”

Enjolras looks back up, blue eyes meeting brown. He completely, absolutely does not deserve her.

Clearing his throat, Enjolras remarks quietly, “This—this is really good, Eppy. _Incredible._ I could never—I would never be able to do this kind of thing. You’re really talented.” He’s never been the most eloquent person when it comes to complimenting the people he loves.

She smiles at him then, a true, genuine smile spreading across her face, dimples carving themselves into her cheeks, and he knows he’s a gone man.

* * *

One day, Enjolras arrives at home to find Éponine sitting there cross-legged on his bed with Christophe asleep at the end, listening to blaring alternative music with half of her right arm stuck into a party-sized bag of Cheetos puffs. Enjolras grimaces at the volume of the music as he throws his messenger bag into a corner of the room before kicking his shoes off, taking off his socks and plopping down into the plush armchair by the open window to stare out at the streets. Looking back at Éponine, he notices how her lips are outlined with orange Cheetos dust, but he makes no mention of it, figuring that she’s probably already aware of its presence.

“How was your day?” Éponine asks thickly through a mouthful of Cheetos puffs, raising her eyebrows expectantly at him as she offers him the bag before he declines with a shake of his head.

“Okay,” Enjolras replies truthfully, feeling his cheeks flush pink from the intensity of her gaze. “Got a lot of work done, and the boss wasn’t as much of an ass as he usually is, so it was decent, I suppose.”

Éponine laughs and Enjolras can’t help but grimace at how his blanket is sprinkled in Cheetos dust, making a mental note to vacuum it off later when she’s gone. It’s only then that he notices the plate of cinnamon sugar cookies on his desk, getting up to get one for himself and taking a bite out of it. Éponine watches intently as he does so, eventually picking up the whole plate and bringing it with him to his armchair by the window.

“What is this? Fall Out Boy?” Enjolras questions, incredulous as an outraged look crosses Éponine’s face.

“How dare you, this is none other than the awesomeness that is My Chemical Romance,” Éponine corrects him, her tone making it seem as if Enjolras should already know this, and knowing her, she probably really does expect him to. “They’ll change your fucking _life_ , Gabe.”

Their heads turn in tandem in the direction of the door when they hear two knocks, watching as the door slowly creaks open to reveal Fantine standing there with a plate of chewy brownie cookies. “You two all right there? You need anything?” she asks amiably as she steps inside to place the plate of cookies on the desk, seeing how the cinnamon sugar cookies are already with Enjolras. He feels his cheeks burn red when the look in his mother’s eyes informs him that she’s thinking that they’d need something along the lines of a condom, hence why she asked if they need anything.

“We’re good, thanks, Fantine,” Éponine replies cheerily, shooting Fantine a thumbs up and a big dimpled smile and making the older woman chuckle.

“Well, just tell me if you need anything,” Fantine tells them both with a bright smile before she exits the room, leaving Enjolras alone with Éponine once again. Éponine turns to look at Enjolras, who’s staring out the window aimlessly as he chews on his cinnamon sugar cookies, and cocks her head.

“You know, I’ve always thought your mom is kind of hot,” she remarks candidly. “She was actually the reason I realised I’m bi, you know.” Enjolras nearly chokes on his cookies.

“Eppy, what the fuck?” he manages to splutter out once he swallows his cookies, disconcerted by her revelation. “That—why—what the—she’s my _mother_ , for Christ’s sake.”

“Yeah, and really fucking hot!” Éponine points out, smirking at him as a whole maelstrom of emotions flash through his blue eyes in the span of approximately three seconds. Leaning back against the pillows, she muses mostly to herself, “Too bad she’s seventeen years too old for me, though.” After a while, she remarks, "On the bright side, she had two gorgeous kids, so I guess I still have a chance. With you, since Cosette's off the market."

Enjolras shakes his head, an incredulous look on his face, although he feels his cheeks warm up at her offhand comment. “You’re unbelievable.”

Éponine chucks a Cheetos puff at him and he succeeds in ducking in record time, the Cheetos puff flying right out the window. A merry laugh slips from Éponine’s lips, and before the two of them can fully realise it, they’re both laughing loudly, their laughter able to be heard from the streets below, and once he composes himself, Enjolras straightens up to gaze at a still-laughing Éponine, Christophe barking after having woken up to the sound of their laughter, and despite himself, Enjolras smiles.

* * *

When Bahorel approaches him at the café late one Wednesday morning at the start of August, Enjolras realises he should have figured that at least one of the Amis is going to question him about him and Éponine sooner or later, especially now that the two of them have been spending more and more time together as the days go by.

Enjolras is sitting in his usual armchair by the window, having ordered a cappuccino and a blueberry muffin as always, watching the townspeople coming and going through the window in the blistering sunshine, the blue skies cloudless and the sun nearly at its peak. He doesn’t notice how Bahorel slides into the identical armchair across from Enjolras’ until the other man clears his throat to alert him of his presence, making Enjolras look up and give Bahorel an expectant look.

Before Enjolras can open his mouth to greet him, Bahorel asks rather abrasively, “So what’s your deal with Éponine? What’s going on between you two?”

Honestly, Enjolras should have seen this coming from twenty miles away.

“It’s good to see you too this morning, Joseph,” he replies, his tone dry. He nearly jumps when Feuilly slides onto the sofa beside Bahorel’s armchair, a look of determination in his eyes.

“Answer the question, Gabriel,” Feuilly tells him firmly.

“What are your intentions with my little sister Éponine Amélie Thénardier?” Bahorel questions, a glint in his dark eyes. “If you hurt her, I’ll castrate you. I’ll do it.”

“She’s barely six months younger than you, Joseph.” Enjolras chooses to ignore Bahorel’s actual question, instead gazing out the window and catching a glimpse of Azelma and Gavroche walking on the pavement across from the café. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Nice day for a walk.”

Feuilly sighs—really, it’s more of a huff. “Gabriel, we’re being serious.”

“So am I,” Enjolras retorts. “We’re just friends, Gus. Nothing more.”

“But you’re still in love with her,” Bahorel guesses, raising an eyebrow, and the implication that Bahorel knows something that Enjolras _doesn’t_ irritates the golden-haired man to no end.

“Doesn’t mean she and I can’t still be friends,” Enjolras points out, trying to keep a level head. “Look, what’s the point of this? She and I are just friends and I have no intention of ever hurting her.”

“I don’t know about you, Joseph—” Feuilly addresses Bahorel briefly before he zeroes in on Enjolras once again “—but every time I’ve seen Éponine in the past few weeks, she’s always been with _you_ , Gabriel. You two are rarely seen apart anymore.”

“So? Friends can want to spend time together,” Enjolras mutters irritably. “This is pointless, and quite frankly, what goes on with me and Eppy is none of your business.”

“We’re just looking out for you both!” Feuilly says, raising his arms in surrender. “There’s no need to get defensive.”

Enjolras deflates, sliding down further in his armchair. “I know, and I’m sorry. But seriously, she and I are _just friends_. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Bahorel leans in closer, inspecting Enjolras’ face, and he smirks. “Okay, then. If you’re so convinced you two are just friends, then why are you blushing?”

Enjolras’ face turns a fiery red, the blush reaching the roots of his hair, and Bahorel and Feuilly’s laughter rings out through the café.

* * *

Before Enjolras even realises it, August is coming to an end, and he finds himself at a party by the lake thrown by Les Amis, for old times’ sake, they say. It reminds him of the days when they were young and wild and careless—throwing parties by the lake, jumping from the tire swing hanging from a branch of the oak tree into the water, getting a little too drunk on apple schnapps during games of Never Have I Ever, dancing to the blasting shitty pop music and acting like fools, and pushing each other off the dock and into the lake as the cicadas sing their song of summer from the bushes and the trees. He remembers all of them gathering and sitting at the lakeshore to watch the sun setting over the mountains together, the sky painted all shades of red and orange as the crickets chirp all around them and the moon kisses the stars hello above their heads.

Enjolras is standing by Éponine’s truck under the tree it’s parked under, dressed in red swimming trunks and a loose blue T-shirt, watching Les Amis wading in the shallows and swinging from the tire swing and doing God knows what else. It’s not quite sundown yet, although the sky is beginning to be streaked with reds and oranges, the typical tell-tale signs that the sun would be setting soon. As of right now, he’s watching Joly and Musichetta frog-march Bossuet into the water and hearing Cosette squealing as Marius runs at her from behind on the dock and wraps his arms around her before the two of them topple over into the lake when Gavroche approaches him.

“Hey, Gav.” Enjolras acknowledges Gavroche’s presence out loud, looking the teenager up and down—he’s wildly different from the fourteen-year-old he had been when Enjolras first skipped town, having had a couple of growth spurts and now lanky. He’s still short, at least compared to many of Les Amis, but he’s grown quite a bit, no longer a full head shorter than Enjolras and having surpassed both his sisters in height. “You’ve grown.”

Gavroche laughs dryly. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot lately. The fact that you haven’t seen me in three years probably helps.” He offers Enjolras some apple schnapps. “Want some?”

Enjolras takes the schnapps from Gavroche without another word, taking a sip and immediately being reminded of the kiss he and Éponine shared all those years ago under this very tree he’s standing under right now. Apples have never quite tasted the same to him since.

Gavroche elbows Enjolras lightly in the side. “You still in love with my sister?”

Enjolras sighs, having gotten used to the questions by now. Everyone in this tiny, nosey-ass town seems to think there are sparks between him and Éponine, and he would need ten more pairs of hands if he was to count each and every time the townsfolk have teased him about Éponine on his fingers whenever the two of them are out and about together. He doesn’t let his imagination run away from him this time, although there are times when Éponine looks at him when she thinks he doesn’t notice that makes him wonder that maybe the meddlesome residents of this little postcard-worthy village are on to something, makes him think that maybe he’s not the only one out of the two of them who feels this way.

“Is that really a surprise anymore at this point?” Enjolras says quietly, watching Éponine shoving Grantaire into the water from the dock and doubling over in laughter, the sound of her laughs reaching his ears. Gavroche pats his shoulder.

“You’ve got a really bad poker face, Gabriel,” he tells the golden-haired man frankly before walking off to join Azelma just as Cosette walks up to Enjolras in nothing but flip flops and her purple one-piece swimsuit, sopping wet, her blonde locks dripping water onto the ground.

“Are you ever going to make your move?” Cosette questions, a hint of impatience in her voice as she tilts her head, looking up at her brother with an expectant look in her blue eyes.

“You know I can’t do that, Cosette,” Enjolras murmurs just loud enough for his sister to hear, thinking of the one hundred and one reasons he shouldn’t go make a move on Éponine, one being her absolute angel of an ex-girlfriend. “She just went through a breakup a month and a half ago. I don’t just want to be some rebound.”

“But you won’t be a rebound,” Cosette tells him, a bright smile on her face. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, you know. Your feelings may be less unrequited than you think.”

Enjolras is just about to open his mouth to reply when Éponine’s words from way back in June echoes in the back of his mind— _you’ll never get anywhere in life if you never take a risk and make the first move, Gabe_. He realises that now really could be his chance, but he doesn’t want to jump into things too quickly, even if he and Éponine have known each other all their lives. “Still, I don’t want to push it,” Enjolras mutters under his breath, shoving his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks.

Cosette sighs in exasperation. “Gabriel, literally everyone else but you can see that she clearly likes you back. It’s obvious you two make each other happy. That’s all I want, Gabe—for my big brother to be happy.”

Enjolras manages the smallest of smiles at Cosette, still having qualms about him and Éponine. “Thanks, Cosette. I’ll sleep on it.”

“You better,” Cosette teases before she makes her way back to her fiancé, meeting Marius by the cooler they’ve brought along and taking out a beer to share with him. Enjolras turns his attention back to the lake, watching Courfeyrac flailing around in the water in a transparent attempt to get Combeferre soaked as Azelma splashes them both, the water going up to her thighs. He takes another absent-minded sip of his schnapps, the taste of Éponine’s lips still fresh in his mind whenever he tastes those damned apple schnapps.

Soon, all of Les Amis are gathering to sit at the lakeshore as the fiery red sun begins its descent, slowly but surely starting to disappear behind the mountains in the far distance. Enjolras thinks it’s a mere coincidence when Éponine ends up sitting next to him as all the Amis pass around a large, full bottle of champagne save for Joly, ever the germaphobe, who chooses to drink from his own flask. Éponine looks up at the darkening skies, a contented little smile on her face, as she takes a swig of champagne, leaning almost unnoticeably into Enjolras before she passes the bottle over to him.

He drinks to days gone by, longing for the glory days of their youth and fondly looking back on all the memories they’ve made at this very lake. He remembers being ten and delighted to find that the lake’s frozen over after Feuilly dragged them all out there to go skating on the ice, many of them falling flat on their asses and making complete fools of themselves way back when. He recalls the bonfires the adults of the town liked to hold for the children and teenagers, although he knows now that those bonfires were just excuses for the adults to have one night for themselves. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget how he and Éponine had sex right here by the lake in the backseat of the car she nicked from her monster of a father, mere months before he went and landed himself in jail.

It’s astounding, really, to think about how much they’ve all grown. They’ve grown up, the whole lot of them, but at the end of the day, they’re all still the same—still exactly the same as they were three years ago, the same in all the ways that matter. They’re still young and wild at heart, and that’s all that matters.

The murmurs and whispers exchanged within the Amis soon die down completely as they all gaze at the sun setting behind the mountains and hills in the distance, entranced by how it casts the whole sky in a deep, fiery red glow before it begins to fade into deep blue, little by little, the full moon coming out to greet the stars. It’s a quiet, tranquil moment among a typically loud, rowdy group of lifelong friends as they all watch the sunset together, the sun slowly beginning to disappear behind the mountains, and Enjolras tries to capture every moment of it, wanting to cherish this moment in the back of his mind forever.

Once night has completely fallen upon them, millions of stars stretching out as far as the eye can see, high above the fields and hanging low over the mountains, the Amis start to leave, in pairs and in threes, but Enjolras is in no rush. He chooses instead to stay behind, trading out his swimming trunks for a pair of jeans and going over to sit at the edge of the dock over the lake, his legs dangling over the edge and his feet just barely touching the cool water as he listens to the crickets chirping and gazes up at the countless stars dotting the deep blue sky.

He thinks he’s been alone all this time until Éponine’s reappearance proves him wrong, nearly making him jump out of his skin when she sits down beside him at the edge of the dock, dressed in simple ripped jean shorts and a flannel over a tank top. She follows his gaze up to the sky, a little peaceful dimpled smile gracing her lips as she gazes up at the endless skies, the stars glittering like diamonds against a deep blue canvas.

“Gabriel, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you.” The sound of Éponine’s voice brings Enjolras out of his thoughts, and he turns his head to look at her expectantly. “So… thanks. You know, for being there and all that shit when things ended with Celeste. You’re a great guy, pretty boy.”

Enjolras cracks a little half-smile at Éponine’s gratitude, gazing into her deep brown eyes. God, he could get lost in those eyes forever. “Why did you stay back?” he asks quietly, trying to figure out any possible reason Éponine could have and coming up empty.

Éponine shrugs. “I just wanted to talk, that’s all.” She plants her palms behind her on the wood of the dock, leaning back on her hands as she swings her legs absently over the edge while gazing out at the lake. “I never really did forget about us, Gabe. You—you were good to me, that night we…” Éponine swallows, feeling her cheeks warm up, and for once, she’s grateful for the dark for masking the blush on her cheeks. “That night we, you know, slept together. Had sex. Did the do. I could tell you cared about me.”

“Care,” Enjolras corrects her. “I still care about you, Eppy. Present tense.”

Éponine turns to look into his eyes, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a little grin. “You love me again, pretty boy?”

Enjolras shrugs, feeling his cheeks flush red. “I don’t think I ever really stopped.”

Éponine sighs and lets out a little laugh of contentment. “That’s so gross.”

Enjolras furrows his brow, letting out a little noise reeking of annoyance, stung by her words far more than he'd like to admit. “Well, if you don’t like me being in love with you, then I can just—”

“I never said I didn’t appreciate it,” Éponine interrupts, effectively cutting him off. “It’s just… that’s good to know, I guess. Thanks, Gabe.”

Enjolras falls silent once again. He can’t help but feel just the slightest bit frustrated that he literally just admitted that he’s still in love with her, that he’s never stopped loving her, and all she can say is that it’s a good thing to know. He’s an idiot, really, the biggest moron in the history of the universe, for thinking anything could possibly happen between them.

Éponine scoots just a fraction of an inch closer to him on the dock, leaving a few inches of space between them, when she looks up again to catch his eye. Her brown eyes soon find his blue and Enjolras finds himself holding her gaze as they sit there together, alone on the dock, and he notices how her dark hair shines under the light of the full moon, the sparkle in her brown eyes making even the stars look dull.

That’s when it happens. One moment they’re gazing into each other’s eyes and the next—she’s leaning in and Enjolras instinctively closes his eyes, unable to tell if this is just another figment of his imagination or if it really happened since it’s over as soon as it started, Éponine leaning back and biting her lip.

Enjolras almost doesn’t register it at first, unable to process that she’s just kissed him, especially since she breaks the kiss as soon as she does it, a look of slight surprise on her face, almost as if she’s surprised at herself.

“What was that?” he mutters huskily, breathless as his blue eyes find her brown once more. A nervous chuckle slips from his lips, and he can’t help but shake his head in disbelief. “You can’t just—Eppy—”

Éponine swings her legs back up onto the dock and tucks them underneath her, turning her whole body towards him, and that’s when Enjolras leans in, stopping only when her mouth is a breath away from his.

“What are you waiting for?” Éponine murmurs. Is it just him, or does Enjolras hear a hint of a whine in her voice?

“You do realise what’s happening, right?” Enjolras bites down on his lip. It takes all of his willpower not to lean in just yet and close the gap between them.

Éponine groans and rolls her eyes. “Do I have to spell it out for you, pretty boy? You’re not kissing me. You know, you put your mouth on my mouth, that’s usually what happens when two people like each other—”

Enjolras’ heart leaps in his chest. “Ah! Right there. You just said it. You like me.”

Éponine rolls her eyes once again, unable to believe that this is the dork she’s fallen in love with. “I’m beginning to have second thoughts about developing feelings towards you.”

And then Enjolras is taking her into his arms and kissing her, his lips capturing hers and his arms snaking around her slim waist to pull her closer. She’s a perfect fit for his arms, almost as if she was always meant to be there, and the kiss is explosive, igniting a fire within the both of them, and God, it’s so much better than the one they shared when they were eighteen and clueless.

“I’m still confused,” Enjolras whispers in between kisses, his lips never truly parting from hers despite the brief breaks they take for air. “What is happening?”

Éponine kisses him hard then, muttering against his lips, “God, shut the fuck up, stop ruining this. I’ve wanted this for a long time now, stop talking and just kiss me, damn it.”

Despite himself, Enjolras grins giddily into the kiss, unable to contain his delight. “You _like_ me.”

“Yes, I think I’ve already established that.”

“Can we start over?”

“My God, _yes_ , Gabriel, I think I made that clear when I made the first move. Now can you just be quiet? Kiss me before I never let your clingy ass anywhere near me ever again.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

This time, they get it right.

It’s the next summer, a week after Marius and Cosette’s wedding and a mere few hours after the giddy newlyweds took off for their honeymoon, and Éponine and Enjolras are sitting in the waiting area of the train station, waiting for their train to Paris. A little under a year ago, Enjolras promised that he’d take her to see the city of light, and he’s always been one to keep his promises.

They’re sitting side by side, pressed up against each other and looking through the photographs from Marius and Cosette’s wedding on Éponine’s phone, transferred from her camera. It’s a bright day out, birds chirping and a blanket of sunlight covering the flowery fields, almost identical to the day Enjolras came back from Paris a year ago, and it’s hard to believe how much has changed in a single year.

Éponine has a pair of blue mirrored aviator sunglasses pushed up against her forehead, flowers woven into her hair as a parting gift from Cosette from that morning. Her dark hair has grown out again, cascading down her shoulders in deep brown waves and the sunlight streaming in through the skylights catching in her hair.

“Aww, look.” Éponine swipes to a picture of Enjolras and Cosette walking down the aisle together, Cosette having asked him to do so since she considers him one of the three most important men in her life, along with Marius and their adoptive father, and he’s been there for her the longest out of all three. There’s just something so fucking sentimental about a brother walking his sister down the aisle, and Éponine, having been Cosette’s maid of honour, would be lying if she claimed she hadn’t been tearing up at the sight of Enjolras and Cosette. “Jesus fuck, you two are so fucking cute, it’s kind of gross. You’ve always had such an easy relationship with her and then there’s me, always fighting with Zel and Gav.”

“At the end of the day, you still love them, don’t you?” Enjolras slides an arm around her as she scoots closer. “That’s what matters in the end. People fight, but in the end, they still love each other.”

Éponine looks up to see the dopey little smile on Enjolras’ face as he gazes into her eyes, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Is that an analogy for us?” she questions teasingly, a playful smirk carving dimples into her cheeks. “That’s so gross. You love me so much.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I tell you that all the time, Eppy.”

“Yeah, but it’s just like—” Éponine reaches up to ruffle his golden curls, a wide dimpled grin on her face. “You _love_ me. You actually _love_ me. You’re _crazy_ about me, pretty boy, you can’t _live_ without me. I bet you can’t see yourself spending the rest of your life with anyone other than me.”

Enjolras sighs and lightly shoves her. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Says the guy who’s been _in love_ with me for six fucking years now.”

“Yes, but you know that already. I love you. I tell you all the time that I do. Why are you acting as if this needs to be broadcast worldwide?”

Éponine scrunches her face up at him, grinning. “I love you too, pretty boy.” She looks back down at her phone, swiping to the next picture and cackling out loud at the image of a grainy photograph of four-year-old Enjolras and two-year-old Cosette, the actual original picture having been on display at the wedding reception despite Enjolras’ protests. “Oh, my God, just look at you!” she laughs, cackling out loud. “I forgot you had the biggest fucking head. Gabriel the airhead.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes once again. “Remember when I told you I liked you?”

Éponine looks up, grinning even wider, big and goofy. “How could I ever forget?”

“I take it back.”

That’s when she laughs and leans in to kiss him, pressing her lips to his in a gentle, tender kiss and making him forget about everything he’s just said as he kisses her back, not caring for once that they’re in the middle of a fairly crowded train station and there are bound to be people watching. Her hands snake up into his hair, fingers tangling in his curls as he brings one of his hands to gently press against the back of her neck, the only thing he can focus on being Éponine’s lips on his. She’s breathless by the time they break apart, brown eyes sparkling and a dimpled smile lighting up her entire face as she gazes up at him.

“What you said, earlier,” Enjolras murmurs as he lets himself relax, allowing the tension to leave his body and dissipate. “About me not being able to see myself spending my life with anyone other than you. Well… that’s true. Yeah. I really can’t. So… yeah.”

Éponine smirks up at him. “Thanks, pretty boy, but you’re going to have to come up with a better marriage proposal than that.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Enjolras scoffs, although the corners of his mouth tug up in the smallest hint of an eye-crinkling smile. He knows he’d marry her in a heartbeat.

Éponine grins at him and ruffles his curls once again just as a booming voice echoes through the train station from above their heads. _“Train to Paris is now boarding on platform four.”_

Éponine springs out of her seat like it’s on fire, grabbing the handle of her suitcase with one hand, the other grabbing Enjolras’ hand and tugging him upward. “Guess we’re going now.”

It’s a much-needed vacation to the city of light, though Éponine is hoping to snag a few gigs as a photographer while up there, so it’s not just a simple vacation to her. Enjolras wonders how much different it’ll be this time around, now that he’s no longer alone in his travels. Éponine is going to be there with him, and he loves her.

“You ever think about moving back to Paris?” Éponine’s voice brings him out of his trance, and he turns his head to look at her. She’s biting her lip, almost as if she’s having second thoughts about asking him. “You know, with me?”

Enjolras pretends to consider it, wanting to be the one messing with the other for once, since she’s usually the one who does in their relationship. He’s uncertain as to what the future has in store for the both of them, but he knows it’ll be different this time around. Besides, who knows when they’ll be back in Musain? It could very well be a week or several months or even a year from now. He notices how Éponine toys with the hem of her open flannel as if she thinks he’d actually say _no_. He’d never say no to her.

“Let’s just see where life takes us,” he suggests, hearing the uncertainty in his voice.

Éponine rolls her eyes. “Since when were you the kind of person to leave things up to such a petty thing as _life_? You’ve always been one to take action. Who are you and what have you done with my darling boyfriend?”

“Well, if we both find that we’re happy there, maybe we can move there together,” Enjolras amends, realising that Éponine’s right. He’s always been the one to take action whenever he’s set his mind on something, and this time is no different. “I don’t know how much more different it’ll be, but I hope it is, now that you’re going to be there with me this time. If you want to move, then we’ll move. It’s a nice city; I was only miserable before because I didn’t have any friends. It’ll be different this time around.”

Éponine smiles, and Enjolras swears the world becomes a little brighter because of it. “Sounds like a decent plan.”

She hops up on her toes and leans forward to press her lips to his in a kiss, a kiss full of hope and promise and the knowledge that they’re going to be okay. Once she pulls away, she takes his hand in hers and laces their fingers together as they begin to walk together, arms swinging, dragging their heavy suitcases along behind them. Once they’re standing in front of their carriage, watching fellow passengers boarding, Éponine gives his hand a squeeze and looks up at him. “So it begins. Our next adventure.”

Enjolras smiles down at her, a full-fledged, eye-crinkling smile lighting up his face and bringing out the blue in his eyes, and nods. “So it does.”

Éponine flashes him a little dimpled grin before she starts pulling him in the direction of the door, itching to board the train, and Enjolras lets her guide him into the carriage, knowing that it’ll be different this time around. They both know where they stand and they won’t let miscommunication get in the way of their relationship, and though they’ve both changed over the years, they’re both still the same at heart. He loves her and she loves him back, and she knows that this time, he’s not going anywhere, that they’ll always have each other, against all odds.

This time is going to be different. He knows she’ll always be by his side no matter what, and she takes comfort in the knowledge that she’ll always have him. Come what may, they’ll always have each other, always there to have each other’s backs and always choosing one another without fail, over and over again, regardless of the circumstances, and that’s love. That’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what you think! also hmu on tumblr [@bisexual-eponine](https://bisexual-eponine.tumblr.com/)


End file.
